Clairvoyant Opus

I have cried for so many beautiful and arrogant times..

my heart speaks for lamented and drowned awakenings.

and my mind has been imprisoned to a trance,


a very deceitful trance..

As the one plays the flute of sorrow..

I was the very own patron of him..

I've thought what was good for my soul was love...

but it was an absurd.. yet theoretical truth..



One who was there plays his harp of solace...

I was on my blindfolded nights in that instance

there, there was the sound..

the eerie tremolo that encourages metanoia.



And hers, the voice of light..

Illuminating, blinding like the onset of heavens..



but what was it's importance?

If I've been on a sullen path?

If I've been deaf to voices afar?

and been seized with debilitating seizures of reality..



I have dreamed of utopia..

for it is only a dream, a fiction..

like a stone thrown into stillwater,

like a tender spot on a steel..



I've given all my miseries, smiles and clairvoyance..

to an old book of unstable chances..