The Cemetery of My Soul

Life? The dust falling over you into a rain of solid crystal clear tears.

Dreaming? Chimerical calling into a mad game, built from forever changing bricks.

Today I spent my time on the top of the last wall that keeps me locked inside here. It's a thick wall, built of stone that was eroded by the dirty waters that keep on washing it, a wall made to protect me, to keep me safe,away from the world of the deceiving fog. I never doubted its loyalty, never intended to cross it or bring it down.

Inside here, in my little box, the music can be heard quite clear. It's a background sound, clear and quiet, sweet and warm, but sad and distant at the same time.

It's difficult to get in here. And the exit... it's a path going miles towards the West, bathed by the sun and so large that a whole army could walk on it and they'd still never reach its edges; its the resting place of all those who have left. A cemetery with thick, tall memorial stones, wooden, stony, thick marble memorial stones. And silence rules over them all.

But sometimes, sometimes a rumble can be heard. It makes you cringe and cry, feel lonely and loved at the same time. It makes you go crazy with its heavy perfume of lilies. And in the old, abandoned church, the owls watch over the altar - my place to hide when I'm scared or what to cry.

And today I'm once again alone. He left with a warm smile, with a touch filled with regret, leaving behind only a shadow that died away with the light of the sun. And there, a new memorial stone appeared, a glorious keeper of white marble on which you can read: "I want to pave your way with a million of shooting stars..."

Fallen. Shaken. Woken up and once again hurt. Hidden and tear-stained. Cheerful and loving. I've been all of these. And for what? For who? What's the meaning of having so many divine dreams?! Human is only the insensate ground I step on and maybe the rain that seeds empty promises in the wind. They, all of those who have been here have lost this quality once they disappeared like broken ideals.

I hate doing this and yet, here I am once again, doing it all over again. To whom do I belong? What can I do next?

I let them in, I'm happy when they're around. I never say a word though about their ending that I know oh, so well. And when the moment finally comes, I turn to stone and stay silent like them. I keep quiet and I cry bloody tears. And then I perish. I walk beside them, walking down on long forgotten paths, trodden by hurt souls, scarred by all the blood shed during lost battles.

And I have one single question:

"Oh Lord, why do I torment myself with the same old death only to face resurrection once again?!"

-- old post written back in 2011, translated today, 4th of August 2013