Temple Of Horizons

I

Orpheus treats the forest like a cradle,
The trees gave him his womb,
But the birds only sing of his tomb.
Their beauty is haunting
A death upon the clouds:
Orpheus adores them more than all.

II

Dream of the pine forests, dressed
In the silver dew - what is left?
To see! to be drenched in the falling
Leaves and the white, abracadabric winds.
Let us abandon falsities:
Swirling red waves, twisting sapphire eyes,
They give only seconds that fall
Disgruntled into whims, as the sun
Rises to claim his blinded kingdom.
When the word drenched in the stone skyline
Settles in the beast of the quiet wind,
It is transformed, vilely, into hopes
That evaporate when the alarms ring.

Siscard the red dreams: make them into
Quick passions; despairing, melting honey, silver breeze,
And turn them into Fantastic Actions.

III

The wind rustles wistfully
Through the skyline of leaves, commanding the sky
With orange syllables and towering
Dark green symphonies.
Water flows through the air, born
In the middle distance and makes a universe
Of silence, with the birds calls as the endless stars.
Slippery pathways dangle at the foot of the
Large trunk standing like a pyramid
Giving the wet soil a dream of the eternal.
Vastness of mysterious beauty;
Colours without limits and heights without order.
A metropolis of cosmopolitan roots and petals,
Gateways infinitely leading to new fantasties
Where all manner of flowers paint the horizon red.
Here is the silent kingdom at last.

IV

Famous promises, unknown to everyone but to those who know the farthest tip of the seven outstreched hands.Give smiles of canopies, teach sun-rich tranquility, instil the silent success; this the promises adore. The dawn of solitude rising upon the lands wet with the dense dew, elevates the senses to the sky of invisibilty.No lights will expose us to melancholy, no warmth will touch us with despait: the horizon of paradises will turn them into Spectacular Reality.

                                    What berry falls on the lush land?
                            Is it the berry planted by the grinning farmers daughter?
                                Is it the berry the gods feast on in tropical celebrations?
                                  Or was it the berry that gave the red sunset its hue?
                                    Only the endless occupation will tell us.