A treasure chest of memories,
is where I keep
my numbed emotional illusions.
I do not take for granted
that with the graying of hair
every burning fire goes out.
And here I am,
at this age,
I still can't find a reason,
in vain, I try to understand
in what sea the illusions of my soul have drowned.
My illusions,
they find a brief stillness,
up there,
among the first faint glimmers of dawn,
where the stars fade,
and then slowly subside,
where the dew gushes
and then settles on a rose petal.
The breeze blows silently,
a plane takes off,
the sun prepares for its daily work.
The air is diaphanous with streaks of pink
and little sparks.
It is the new day that yawns.
I long for Love,
a sudden love
that shakes my heart.
Time passes slowly and quickly,
inexorably,
and if not now, when?
I do not want once again to surround
my emotional illusions
with the levees of the pain-killing casket of oblivion.
Loose, snappy,
I want my unrestrained delusions to soar
in the sighs of a gentle breeze of Love.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Mauro Montacchiesi.
Published on e-Stories.org on 04/12/2023.
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