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The Veiled Garden
O Dream, a painter you are, vivid and exquisite.
Winged and unchained, you lead me into worlds of lightness and magnitude.
But the soil I set my foot on, is the sole I can feel.
And so you return me, dazzled and bewitched, each time to it.
Cold and hard it has turned, unattended.
Where is my Will?
Where is my Persistence?
In my Dreamland I am Strong and Unbending.
Soaring the Skies, defeating Tyrants, facing the Sun.
The soil hides roots that go deep into the earth.
With toil they are kindled, unveiling fruit hidden within.
Slowly I must tender them.
Each fruit is also a Dream.
Of texture harsh, of weight considerable.
If opened, it reveals a world of its own.
Unique and unimaginable.
But, things of Matter are harsh for my hands.
They bleed from the thorns of Struggle and Necessity.
Their painful embrace triggers remembrance,
Of scornful past and accursed future.
A burning ache in the chest, in the eyes,
The grotesque dance of vermin under the skin
And the fog starts to set back in again.
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I awake within the forest. It is unusually solemn and contemplative,
Almost sensuous in its near silence of faint gust and rustling.
A drifting presence is felt near the bounds of my senses.
Through the silver pathways of the forest I hunt for it.
I cannot reach but its mirage, which gracefully flees.
A trail with blood on its side appears.
It leads to a deer which had its throat cut open.
Then to a woman, severed in the same manner.
Not with terror, but in inexplicable awe I move on.
The red path ends in a garden surrounded by shadows.
An altar lies inside, besides it, a dark figure.
It holds two severed heads, each one the source of a crimson river.
It turns over to me.
The memory brutally unveils the curtain of 'I'
I look, eye to eye, to the concealed Truth of ages past.
It commands me, pointing into the white stone.
The urge to submit is abominable.
I look away and run towards the Sun.
In hope it is real and not part of a scenery that's falling apart.
With every last ounce of strength, I throw myself towards the scorching heat.
Defiant Fire of Judgement, for Now and Forever, measure my Spirit!
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