The Shadows Of Melancholy

Shadows of melancholy perpetually hovered over me like branches of a giant oak tree. No doubt I could have been deceived by my own senses when I discovered that my dreams had vanished promptly from my realm of desires and fears. Even anguish didn’t hesitate to manifest its power over my heart, which was grieving heavenly. Oftentimes I questioned the blank mirrors about my burdensome fate, and all that I could obtain as revelation was an enflamed candle, glimmering like a star in the night sky. Exquisite deep red roses and delicate blue butterflies offered me antique manuscripts as a gift of friendship. The truth was concealed among books and flowers, while the moonlight shone brightly, dazzling me unexpectedly. Perpetual twilight settled over this surreal scene: a majestic stone castle stood on a cliff across a calm lake beneath an immense full moon. As usual, I was staring at the magnificent view from my stone windowsill, where I usually passed my nights among stacked antique books and my beloved hourglass. My ornate mirror reflected the beauty of the surroundings, which seemed increasingly surreal to me. No dismay seemed to attend those moments of leisure while shadows of melancholy constantly cast a shadow over my heart. Nevertheless, the longer I gazed at that splendid landscape the more blurred its reflection became in my mirror. It seemed as though beauty was being enchanted by a magical spell, which was dedicated to eliminating every delight. The tranquil waters of the lake silently swallowed the antique fortress and all the marvellous realm. Undoubtedly, the abysses had taken possession of my realm of blissful dreams, leaving me nothing but some petals of withered roses. All my archaic manuscripts and ancient books disappeared from my sight and in their place there was only dust and fragments of dry leaves. I could feel a gelid breeze surrounding me like an invisible veil and whispering rhymes about the utmost despair, while my wisdom couldn’t perceive any paradox as I became increasingly dazed beneath the shadows of melancholy.
Elisabetta Esther

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