From the Pocket of a Dream
A dark velvet cover in the room of ghosts.
My whole world lays in a coffin.
An immortal heart beats with utter silence.
A heart trapped inside another dimension,
in a different universe.
Dead, still radiating life.
Motionless, yet only apparently tranquil.
The stillness is just an illusion.
The air is thick and cold, almost frozen,
no shadows to disturb the walls.
A whitish breath of haze rises from the dusty floor
leaving thousands of silvery droplets on the ceiling of stone.
In the middle of the room there are candles shivering on the marble table.
Their transparent bodies tremble in the darkness, melting slowly.
Their own flame is their own destruction.
It brings them life and bestows the eternal sleep
in a constant paradox of existence.
But another life is born in the crack of gloom,
at the darkest hour
while the night howls as a wounded beast bleeding,
suffering in distress.
A new life.
A being, awakened from its sleep, taken out of a dream
just to be thrown again into one odd circle of dying.
It is time for the fragile mind to drown into the confusion
about who he really is:
as momentary as the candles on the table of marble…
Or the answer.
The true response to one secret question,
hidden away because of the human’s instability,
because of the brittleness of our time line.
© Eclipse 2008 – 2011