Tag: mystical poetry

  • The Vault Of Forsaken Keys

    The Vault Of Forsaken Keys

    The vault of forsaken keys was the place of shadows and mysteries, of wisdom and madness, and where the keys of all the world, beyond the earthly and the earthly, were kept. It is not known to what or to whom they belonged, yet they seemed to guard secrets that no one could know.

    As dark and gloomy as this cavern of fantasy and greed might seem, of recession and generosity, it had a particular charm, a sobriety so composed that it impressed me for the order and at the same time the madness that hovered in those ancient and decrepit halls.

    The scent of incense and ancient metal impregnated the air, which was coloured by semi-shadows, by metallic reflections that the shadows cast upon the walls.

    The endless and long corridors spread out into an infinite labyrinth impossible to decipher. Without being able to find an exact direction. But one constant thing was the vision of a light like a perpetual faint glow at the end of these corridors. And the more I proceeded, the more I found no end. It was as if I had remained trapped in that underground and undefined place from which I was certain I could no longer escape. Because in fact there was no way out. And I was destined to become one of the countless and anonymous metal keys arranged on the walls.

    My freedom had been devoured by that unnamed and unfindable place. My troubles and cries were worth nothing, I only lost my breath. It was as if gradually I was losing the faculty to perceive my breath. And it was as if I was transforming into something else.

    I never knew if I was dreaming. I never knew if I was a common mortal, a being born on a planet. Or, instead, I was the fruit of my own imagination and I do not know what I was, what I had originated from. I too felt like one of those countless keys, in that vault of forsaken keys.
    Lisa

  • Timeless Beauty And Melancholy

    Timeless Beauty And Melancholy

    Timeless beauty and melancholy—as a memento of human frailty and the fleeting passage of time, which devours everything it touches.

    Among tapestries, sculptures, and paintings I wander, without direction and without intent, as if I had lost myself in the labyrinth of my own imagination.

    Solitude no longer belongs to me, for the thousands upon thousands of spirits inhabiting these artworks are my friends and companions, guiding me along their path of beauty and magnificence.

    I sigh and allow myself to be lost in my own unconsciousness and infatuation, as if I were a creature born of my dream world.

    In reality, I live in my imagination all the time, just realising that the world built by mortals does not belong to the way of my mind and spirit. And that my heart can only beat in a realm of silence, beauty, and bliss.

    Though some shadows and anxieties sometimes distract me from my path, I remain ever aware of my steadfastness and of the balance I seek to embody and preserve, to survive within my realm of wonders.

    In the silence of the night, I found myself in a valley of revelations, secrets, and mysteries, and it was there that I perceived and was able to ascertain what my senses had made me perceive.

    And at the same time, it seemed to me that the flame of my heart was kindled ardently with love and delight in the presence of such a revelation, of which I was certain, for the spirits of art had whispered the truth to me.

    Even though my body longed for rest and oblivion, my heart beat fiercely in the presence of such a revelation and in the presence of such sublimity.

    And yet, even if torments, anguish, and dark shadows sought to terrify me and make my path and my existence unbearable, this pure and indissoluble love—so fragile—kept me alive, like a vital sap to a flower surrounded by thorns and predators.

    Timeless beauty and melancholy stood like sentinels around me, watching over my heart.
    And though I was exhausted by a wretched and atrocious existence, I found my centre of gravity.

    And upon the petals of intoxicating beauty,
    as if it were a marvellous flower,
    I found refuge and rest.
    Lisa

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