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Beneath veils of silvery mist

I walk where the light has been forgotten.

Whispers speak of my new presence,

unknown to all who crossed the threshold.

At the climax of the silent hour,

the shadows shelter by my side.

No voice shall break this night,

where I keep my blooming storms.

The mourning clouds watch me fall,

holding back their rain, waiting for me.

The storm draws near, slowly,

to devastate the place where I remain.

The strong wind caresses my face,

making me understand it is the last affection I shall receive at the end,

in this life where I bleed solitude.

Across the horizon of fate, curved by grief,

the sky bows before me, as if it were to shatter,

gathering the crystal it shall pour upon me,

to cleanse the roots of my being.

The mourning clouds have awakened,

the storm is here, tears dissolving the skies,

descending in eternal streams,

flooding my darkest dreams.

And when the last drop melts the final ray of light,

I shall rise within the night.

The grieving clouds will drift away,

yet their rain shall remain within my soul,

to dream the final dream.