Arrive to the way
through the forgotten garden...
The orchids are still
in silence
The ruins of this valley
without colour and timeless
I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river
near to my soul
Watch the eternity
drags the abyss among the shadows
of an enigmatic awakening
And the vision
of the silent tree covers the snow
When the running waters
scorn the whisper of the wrath
in the elapse of the swamp
the Spirit goes over the sorrow
The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze
In the journey to the past
somebody write something without meaning
The symbolism left in the certainties
little more of what I see in this bogs
The raw winter left death´s smell
in the thickness of misery
The things take me to the immensity
and the immensity take me to the another things
The gloomy melody of the trees knows
that the blaze of wind
dies in every rainy morning of autumn
in the threshold of the night, the tree
all the sadness of winter and life
shut herself in the mystery
of this everlasting rainless
The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous
The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back
In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and
in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon
Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night
In the journey to the past
somebody write something without meaning
Arrive to the way
through the forgotten garden...
The orchids are still
in silence
