On the winding path that leads to the cliff ,
I go to meet that old man -so far from wise-
who has the feverish features of my younger years.
As the sun sets ,the everchanging play of dark shadows ,
calls out the one who bears ,life\'s heavy burden ...
Passes by -the silent procession of the seasons ,
and unspoken secrets at chilly dawns ...
\'\' Love ,don\'t wake the cat when you leave !
the ambers are lukewarm and its so cold outside ...
- grabe your coat for the great departure ! \'\'
Chiaroscuro born out the melancholy
inspired by the flat country .
Final journey of the ashes of a fire cloud
as they blend with the bitter salt
of the tide\'s tears...
I am the celestial gardener who gathers
the echos of the past .
Who restores voices to the carvings of words
on forgotten graves...
we give fleeting bouquets but no one knows
the name of the sacrified flower ...
When only the scent remains ,
it seems more appropriate to express one\'s love...
The frail ,fearful old children who still remember
the legends of the abyss ,find shelters
in these moments adorned in mist ...
voluntary castaway in my chaotic inner landscapes,
On the path that ends at the cliff ,
as the ancient soul returns to the craddle ,
a door into memories ,opens ...