Echoes of Asphodel

A faint light in my eyes,
pale as moon and cold as ice,
Remnants of an ego— haunt
stirring in my head.
A river washed me away,
dipped in amnesia.
A sound echoes from within—
I was- I was- I was here.

A cloudy night,
muted stars
shine on the faded meadows.
O, Asphodel,
Its emblematic flower
blooms like a brittle bone.
grayed out by this limbo—
yet the silver petals glow.

I drift in its emptiness,
light as a feather.
Unburdened
by those memories.
Dissolved in the waters of Lethe,
their colors drained away,
now faded impressions
wash against me— dark waves
pulling at my feet

Cold,
and still, and smooth,
Marble statues envy me—
but even stone has memory.
I— an empty husk.
Decorating a garden
of eternity.
A frozen tree
with nothing left to yield.

There is an eerie calmness
in never being myself,
not belonging anywhere
neither heaven nor hell.
The freedom to swing,
like a tree torn in the wind.
A smudge of me stains
the whispering fields,
where muted echoes sing.