Illusionism

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If there is still a bit of time left
I'd like to know it.
A message at the last moment
before this vessel reaches destiny.
If tears and laughs were enough
between dawn and sunset.
If the outlined forms upon the dark
stone of this sidereal cavern
carved out a message worthy of an answer,
or the deserving eternity of an unknown silence.
These figures,
these insignias of soul over a surface
either rough or transparent,
as birds embarking in their pilgrimage
towards some other land,
murmuring signs in movement
against a heaven open and unpredictable.
The fire of waiting
consuming the ships and scattering
the ashes of the irretrievable
sparkles with frail apathy
upon the waters of this waning evening.
Before the last ember
becomes diluted beneath the cold darkness of oblivion,
I'd like to know.
If there is still a bit of time left.
If the illusion of life
still has a trick up its sleeve
for a last smile
with some traces of childhood.

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