How many stories Infinity collects
an immense hissing in sleepless night
Smoke spirals collective unconscious rarefied
condense my sitting here cultivating hopes
scattered haphazardly through the streets on the snow
to invent new cruel madness that nourish the addition
My rough guide between the forests
along unknown paths among green leaves
clouds mark the sublime and slow path
just as the Lords of Nature back in the mountains
and whisper something to the ears of those who live downstream
certain of Tradition that tramanderà as a flowing hissing
for hours days months and indefinitely for ages
Kings and Wizards, Knights and Emperors
a mystic dream of butterflies rules the world
the sweetness of the sacred fire and wind
propitiate happy events in the future of Chaos
between images that float in the primordial vacuum
between faint play of colors and nostalgia of ancient victories
between the thick mesh of faces who observe the new Aeon
The circle and the pentacle evoke the beyond unknown
a thin loop binds the unconscious around her neck
and you remain awake to enjoy the eternal and the cosmos
and it remains awake to domesticate the Silence
where the last word becomes light as a golden breath
in a tight game mystery that enhances body and soul
The trees like waves at the source
Quick find reading to other worlds thresholds
no one sees nothing feels nothing but only shadows
that draw careful in their hair silvery streaks
and whisper sweet words and charms of new promises
of eternal life in the woods and great wealth among gems
in front of white priests from ancient eras
The journey to unknown verse urges the vices
the narrow road Lash consciousness the faults
and each of us as a foreigner goes to silent valleys
screaming at the ancient sky sore cursing
and a look full circle and the universe becomes dust
and you inuile the smile lies hunter at treetops
without asking what secret penetrates into your face forever
Do not cry on sound wings
rather run after your soul between the mirrors
reflections often get lost between dreams
and the silence of the body claiming things colors the ocean
just because each story contains a thousand stories
and none of them untie the knot in my throat and the eternal oblivion
the heart that has a strange fragrance of absence
