Stories from a mountaintop

I don't know how did I get here.
Or what brought me here.
For all I know that we, all of us are intertwined in some particular uncertainties.
I saw a golden lion roar in the middle of my conversation with the soul inside the reflective glass.
It was enormously harsh, it shattered my whole weak drums.
The little girl in the old photo smiled back at me.
Telling me that everything is going to be just fine.
The sharpest roses bound her arms into an esoteric geometry.
(and her lies into a crypt of ashes)
The silent walls behind me, and the whispering trees above me are weeping through the coldness of the war.
The unfinished vengeance of the nymphs of the shore.
I was not alone, I was surrounded.
I was surrounded by the dying spark of humanity, and the shattered hopes of morality.
Every single thing was in between.
I could even place myself in the middle of the battleground.
For I could find their faces in the middle of the armoured veins.
From the lover to the devil.
The drowning victim of the glorious battle.
I thanked the empty skies for my family.
I thanked the universe for my childhood sidekick.
I thanked the devil for my enemies.
Here, I brought my weapons of my future war.
My personal war with myself, and the screaming crowds.
My war with the city lights, and endless dynamites.
My war with uncertainties, and the pressure of the societies.
My war in the madness of the neverending stories.
And through all the madness, I found peace.
Here, in the arms of the forested raindrops.
Here, in front of the blank canvas.
Here, drifting in his velvety voice, and silver strums.
Here, where I have no capital nor electricity.
I am free.

(Written in the middle of nowhere last week.
PS: I've been thinking to close all of my online accounts, and just get back to the old fashioned way.)