My soul, a wandering ship on piercing emerald seas
My soul, a wandering ship on piercing emerald seas,
floats aimlessly,
As the healing minutes trickle like sand from a broken hourglass,
and I thirst for one last moment of respite.
I am a prisoner between the dewdrops of twilight,
bound with invisible chains to the grave of withered flowers,
Dragging frozen memories through the frozen hours,
like silent ghosts.
Pale stars melt into darkness,
stealing the sky's light like nocturnal thieves,
Sprinkling the gloomy labyrinth of my thoughts with ink,
in shades of dreams and bluish-purple mist.
Melancholic roses adorn themselves with hidden motifs,
like unwritten poems,
Dressed in verses about gentle seasons that no longer come.
Will the wind and the waves ever merge into a complete silence,
Releasing healing elixirs for broken souls and giving voice to unspoken pain?
Or am I doomed to sail eternally through sins and remorse,
On stormy seas of regrets,
like an outcast silenced by his own suffering?
In this unbroken flow of thoughts and sensations, reality distorts,
And I lose myself in the meanders of my own consciousness, vainly seeking meaning
In this world of metaphors and symbols that intertwine like suffocating vines.
Am I condemned to remain a captive in this garden of poetic delirium?
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