PRISONER OF TIME 1 © 2007
Sometimes, in the eagerness to frame what invades my soul,
I find myself stumbling over the very logic of my thoughts,
And spelling discrepancies play a few tricks on me.
This euphoria trips me up on the runway of ideas.
In this very moment as I write, I’ve already lost my way,
And the meaning I wanted to give to my thoughts diverges,
To the point where they head in the opposite direction,
Turning against me, like enemy children
Uniting to confront their own father.
This journey tires and nullifies me,
As if each word, instead of being a relief,
Becomes a burden, an endless labyrinth,
Where the exit hides in the shadows of what I no longer am.
And so, I continue in this internal battle,
Trying to tame the storm within me,
But with each step, with each sentence,
I feel myself growing further from the clarity I seek.
More lost in the jungle of thoughts,
Where reason dissolves and emotion rebels,
Leaving me at the mercy of a silent chaos,
That consumes the remaining energy within me.
In this struggle, words become swords,
That cut not only paper but also the soul,
And in the end, all that remains is exhaustion,
The fatigue of one who tried but did not succeed,
Of one who walked but lost their way,
And now only wishes for a moment of peace,
An instant of silence, where they might find themselves
And perhaps rediscover the harmony once known.