Reissue of Epiphanic mirror- Original poem

zeleiracordero (67)in #zeal • 6 years ago

Greetings, Steemianos!
This poetry inspired by the photo, which for me, represents an epiphany, that searched in Google will tell us that it is a manifestation of a thing and puts for example:

"Force and life are nothing but epiphanies of ultimate reality; man's body is the epiphany or showing of his own physis.

I have always seen epiphanies in the psychedelic twilight reflected in the sea and I have already written about it, voices that come without stopping when contemplating that wonderful vision of colors. That's why I've re-edited a poem of my authorship that fits the divine vision reflected in the photo, which is what moves in the poem:

Epiphanic mirror

Eternity harps,
nail file that languish
in the vault of heaven,
denying the Sibyl
his most ardent desire for finitude,
which is good for simple humans.

Who translates the vision of the wind?
The one who never dies.
Who removes the stars
her light dress,
It is the same one that carries
their sizzling voices
in the back.

Flickering and dying light
reveals the epiphanic mirror
that transmutes the eternal.
How can that which is perpetual die?
Agony has a rhythm of silence.

The agony has a rhythm of silence.
The silence of the poet,
that numbs his own voice
and delves into the voice of mystery,
wake up in the sounds
of buried cicadas,
the nymphs that wait
the perfect moment.

The proximity of the sacred
is revealed in a yawn of the sun,
where divinity awakens
to the human.

Epiphany of reality
with inverse sublimation.
Pulsion of life, pulsion of death.
Libidinal pulsations
threaded to a new end
of morphogenesis.

Espejo epifánico

Arpas de eternidad
desgastan uñas que agonizan
entre la bóveda del cielo,
negando a la Sibila
su más ardiente deseo de finitud,
bien de humanos simples.

Aquel que traduce la visión del viento
nunca muere, aunque quiera.
Quien desnuda las estrellas
vestidas de luz,
carga a cuestas sus voces siseantes.

Luz moribunda que parpadea
en el espejo epifánico
que transmuta lo eterno.
¿Cómo puede morir lo perpetuo?
La agonía tiene un ritmo de silencio.

El silencio del poeta
que adormece su voz propia
y se adentra en la voz del misterio,
para despertar los sonidos
de ninfas enterradas,
que aguardan el tiempo perfecto.

La proximidad de lo sagrado
se revela en un bostezo del sol,
donde la divinidad intima
con humanos.

Epifanía de realidad
con sublimación inversa.
Pulsión de vida, pulsión de muerte.
Pulsiones libidinales
enhebradas a un nuevo fin
de morfogénesis.