The Anonymous Past

As I stop in front of this enormous gate,
The past keeps hunting me, but not now,
Not if I enter this place where I can sing,
Sing to my past in the tone that it forbids.

As I walk through this infinite garden,
Smelling the falling autumn leaves,
Hearing the wind dancing between them,
I observed another soul entering my dimension.

As I run towards the endless night’s mist,
Following my desire to hug her thin figure,
An illusion reinforced by a dark empty abyss,
Losing my future and the hunting starts again.

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