She is made

Of gold and silver rays

And everywhere I go She meets me

With elemental charm




Is the soul’s reflection

In the mirror of eternity

At least, that’s what I read

In a poem


In a poem

Things don’t have to make sense

Making sense is tiresome business

And sometimes we all need

A short break


A short break

Can sometimes be the way

Life reminds us of our true nature

A short break in the flow

Of a dream


How to end

What has no beginning?

Can life itself be neatly wrapped up

All the characters ushered orderly off stage

Until the theater is empty

Eternally empty

Could it be?


I am old

And also, I am young

How can I be both at once, you ask?

Here, lean in close to me

And I’ll tell…


My oldness

Lies in knowing nothing

Whereas my youth, on the other hand,

Lies in all the mistakes

Left to make



Is just a word until

You really start to become aware

That everything you know

Makes no sense


Stories are

The only way She knows

To give the most important message:

Please, try not to panic

You made it




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