A cartography of every hope I’ve lost. I am the root that drinks from poisoned wells, A choir of silence where your shadow dwells. You are the zenith that I’ll never reach, The sacred scripture that I cannot preach. The weight of leaden feathers on my chest, A frantic pulse that never finds its rest. I am the arsonist who fears the spark, A blinding sun that leaves me in the dark! Oh, this love is a monument of salt, A soaring flight that grinds to a sudden halt! I am the echo of a voice you never heard, The final breath of a broken-winged bird! Always the ocean, never the shore, Losing the battle, but craving the war! I weave your absence into every vein, A silver harvest of this holy pain. You are the anvil where my heart is slain, The summer drought that begs for winter rain. The proximity of stars is but a lie, We touch the light, but watch the spirit die. Tear the sky! Let the heavens bleed! I am the harvest... But you are the seed... of my end! Oh, this love is a monument of salt, A soaring flight that grinds to a sudden halt! I am the echo of a voice you never heard, The final breath of a broken-winged bird! Always the ocean, never the shore, Losing the battle, but craving the war! A choir of silence... Your shadow dwells...
