THE DEAFENING ECHO OF TIME

Today,
that laboriously more impervious is the road,
and of an indefinite love
the doubt,
it wears out my path,
hermit,
on the past, I reflect.
Today,
that the deafening echo of time,
louder and more vibrant
explores the mind,
to sink, I desire in my labyrinth.
The yellow chrysanthemum of sorrow,
that there, thriving sprouts,
that fragrant stuns
lucubrations, feelings, emotions,
extirpate I want.
However,
like a mistletoe snare,
my labyrinth captures me,
and opaque makes the future.
During these hours,
my labyrinth,
it is sovereign of my mind,
that among the meanders, 
it confounds.
The most arcane maze of life,
the return to the light,
the theorem of truth,
in its intricate,
pitch plexuses,
jealously,
hermetically,
it encloses.