Inner landscapes

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 ...