Maybe I´ll wake some time under the shades
and surprise myself unexplainably rested
turning my vision find light among the nothingness
something perfect, brilliant, masterly stolen.
Maybe I´ll find myself hungry in the morning
and in illusion my hunger calms blinking
Maybe Dream will visit me some night
healing the pointless vision of my world
tearing me off, pouring me on the ground.
Meanwhile, the wax sculpts white nightmares
battered gargoyles of a poor cathedral
silent witnesses watching the shadows dance.
Pagan dance of Moon guardians,
emaciated clowns in a theater of walls
projecting in their endless opera.
Waiting forever for her embrace,
awaiting impatiently, destitute
For Her, empty, silent and final.