The seed of regret

The fleeting thought that I would detain would have read like this:

I wondered around, as if aimless, but still I observed

If anything had a reason to be imitated
If a tree cried out to be described
If the wind pushed stronger to be noticed
I feared it would never again be portrayed...

Still, I wondered around, as if aimless
and spoke of the elevated thought,
of images of courage,
of all things I have since then sought.

Yet never of things that were mine did I speak
Like the poet who is blind in the house of mirrors,
or deaf.
And thus no voice ever rose,
no hand ever struck,
all things would settle;
the ideal flame would sleep,
but all things after would finally become light.

A moving light,
as if walking into a chamber with a thousand fireflies contained within.
Beautiful beings, pieces of spirit
slowly becoming mine.

In this closed chamber, no longer full of mirrors,
as wings became skin,
and such bright beauty grew dim,
a new light emerged inside the room
slowly caressing away the gloom
and as patiently as the shifting inside a clock of sand
this newly formed light
seemed to shine from newly formed hands

No longer would a single thought be detained, and no longer fleeting, they read like this:

After that night, I wondered around, no longer aimless;
no longer did I sit by and observed.
For there are no trials I would ever again feel coerced into avoiding,
no boundaries that must remain unbroken for fear of death.
For fear should never claim that fiery passion for the unknown,

which most righteously belongs to life.

A moving life, the unhindered blooming of the most beautiful flower I have ever known.