Yawned the sun,
and so
it went off to sleep.
Currently,
my reflections
are wrinkled petals,
in this prelude of winter
that chisels on the soul the tedium vitae,
the cupio dissolvi,
desiderium habens disssolvi
et cum Christo esse.
What else to ask of this life of mine?
I don't know,
really.
I feel a great sense of bewilderment,
like a raft adrift.
Sometimes I have the feeling
that I have already crossed
this earthly dimension
and I strive to metabolize its
utter madness.
The anxiety of this planet assails me.
I beseech Thee, Heavenly Mother,
in this ordeal,
who knows, a catharsis,
could you grant me the gift of the antidote?
The frost,
tonight,
has frozen the soul
between monolithic ice floes
and you,
and you, my love,
here you are no longer
to radiate it with your warmth.
No more a nod,
no more a smile,
to feed the tongues of fire
that in those years
restlessly swayed.
In these vespertine shadows,
nostalgia exhumed
the anxiety that lay concealed
in the certainty of reliving.
Weeping drops fall
into the dream of return
and are lost in the Penumbra
that makes its way
in the manor house of the I.
Every moment that passes,
I storm
the sterility of my prose,
attempting to symmetrize
my mystical sphere
and exclusively
in the dimension of pain
I again run into myself.
And so,
without strength,
without will,
inert, I wait for the peal
of the vespers
of life,
of my life.
The stars catch me
among the silences of the mind,
in the dreaming that give way
to the first wanderings of dawn,
as I invoke you
With prayers streaked with melancholy,
and your face
in my mind,
it is a surge eating away an atoll.
I employ all my strength
to illuminate this pain of mine,
but in loneliness, I glimpse
the only existential dignity
and while macerating myself
in this poignant yearning,
I fear that the first rays of Apollo
are all too early.
Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Mauro Montacchiesi.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 07.11.2016.
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