BEYOND ME

(These icicles are crystal clear...)
I shall dance the dances of rapture,
To feast at the banquet of hope.

(A dark dream...)
The clouds are gone,
But its trail is still warm.
The Nightingale sings of thrills and tides,
Of golden reins held by bronzy hands,
Of love and sweet truths,
And of warm fire served in wine glasses.
I opened my eyes; a knight in gale,
The trail had gone cold,
Alas! I was the lord of the dream.

All things are possible when a dreamer is let loose...

Roses they say, comes each with its own thorn,
I plucked a rose and I was torn.
Tell the rose I plucked her because I am magic,
I am magic and magic is me.
This is so,
For I caught a flame and was fired up.
I must not tell a lie,
Go ask these icicles.

A man must be what he really is,
But who really is a man?

Every line of this poem is a riddle,
The vivid voice of the Sphinx.

I will set myself ablaze in this rapturous dance,
To feast at the banquet before me,
For I am who I really am,
Lo, I am beyond me.

#El_Magnifico™