Star Dust

It seems as if I am hearing choirs from afar, in a faraway land of the soul and of the universe! It is the second that tells the thought to speak, to break the silence listening to him, the accursed second belonging to the witch from the North, the witch called fate. I can still feel your steps running on my temples, the steps of the white light coming from among my tears, in a rhythmical minuet…and so I have stopped with my eyes wide open toward the horizons, looking for answers `in the eyes of the stars and through a free spirited harmony we became the children of that moment in the night with a new moon, sleeplessness and tenuous feelings. In the long but so lightened night and awake, a thick smoke seems to weigh like a venomous shadow over me, griming moon’s pure, angelic glow…the times go by lucent and thoughts appear and vanish in an deviant disorder, like in a tumble. The rain started dancing infinitely, creating the perfect couple with my own sour tears…the couple, that “us” belonging to the infinite, to the absolute. But what means absolute?...it is everything or nothing, and we are not even able to define the everything, not to say the nothingness…but they are the infinite, we were the infinite and the love will always be…the darkness in my soul is Earth’s longest night, and the moon that had risen in the others would have had the space to play here, to dance and to sing and my thought that was now entering the wonder of a second did not conceive the destiny the next second would have. On the streets we once strolled along are now walking step by step the sign of the infinite, neighboring the moon, the sun and all the zodiac signs and the world that we once knew estranges itself from us, slowly, with its sounds and voices, going towards disappointment and memories, like another life left behind beyond death. I am a strange mosaic of sleep with my eyes open, and of dream with closed eyes, of sleep and sleeplessness, of outbursts of living in the future – in a future bearing the black’s tulip color – of fears that were one time vanquished and many times triumphant, but all exiled by a strong heart beat that has not yet forgotten its past.