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The moon ascends from its watery grave,
To dance above, with a roar like a tidal wave.
In the lake of the souls, where life's fragments collide,
Passersby come and go, on this relentless ride.
Wanderers, small and insignificant,
In the chaos of theirs soul's descent.
Blinded by the celestial body's blazing light,
Indifferent to feelings, they continue their fight,
In moments that shackle them with despair,
Naked souls, with burdens they avoid to bear.
Darkened and crowned, as she approaches the light,
It's in her nature and in her imagination's might.
Aware of the absurd and the folly profound,
She raises a cup to memories, on unholy ground.
Burning his fingers with the cigarette's flame,
As the radio blares Cohen's "Boogie Street" name.
Preparing for the journey to the lake's dark grace,
Hoping scattered fragments will find their rightful place.
Ηλίας Βήτα
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