A TREASURE CHEST OF MEMORIES

A treasure chest of memories,

is where I keep

my numbed emotional illusions.

I do not take for granted

that with the graying of hair

every burning fire goes out.

And here I am,

at this age,

I still can't find a reason,

in vain, I try to understand

in what sea the illusions of my soul have drowned.

My illusions,

they find a brief stillness,

up there,

among the first faint glimmers of dawn,

where the stars fade,

and then slowly subside,

where the dew gushes

and then settles on a rose petal.

The breeze blows silently,

a plane takes off,

the sun prepares for its daily work.

The air is diaphanous with streaks of pink

and little sparks.

It is the new day that yawns.

I long for Love,

a sudden love

that shakes my heart.

Time passes slowly and quickly,

inexorably,

and if not now, when?

I do not want once again to surround

my emotional illusions

with the levees of the pain-killing casket of oblivion.

Loose, snappy,

I want my unrestrained delusions to soar

in the sighs of a gentle breeze of Love.