I
wander in the bottom of my existence
Labyrinth
In
search of a sense, of a centre.
But
the empty is there…
In a
primordial apparent chaos
In history red scents
Where a dead flowers abyss there is
and memory drunk smells
In a echo void of voices and of deaf words.
I
feel in bottom of my spectral
Labyrinth
Past
tomes
Bringing back enigmas and existential regrets
But
the empty is there…
Absent every rational order
In
the obscure delight vineyard
The
energy decomposes
No
reason
Every instant in eternal tension
The
all in nothing.
Suddenly
In
the abyss which doesn’t resist
A
ray filters
A
path opens
And
a symbols, images and sounds smell
Rises with the sun rent :
It’s
the Art
Consolation supreme synaesthesia
Salvation ecstatic virtue
Redemption therapeutic light
For
the human wandering
In
the artificial and existential labyrinth.
.
And
Theseus’ chant is heard
And
tightly
Ariadne’s
thread
Is
to catch
For
climbing the tentacular
Labyrinth
And
in a conscious new life
Resuscitating in the flight.
Elisabeth Veneziano, The absurd
Weird
nonsense,
Chaotic content:
Existing like Fragments of resonance
Refracting angles of oblique complexity,
That only wisdom knows,
In her reflection it remains concave-convex.
A puzzle,
Refining rays of reason,
Into fusion.
