MOONCIRCLE

Words lose their mark and stretch between the scattered webs of a light fabric.
The foreignness of memory…the extraneousness of an image that no longer belongs to us, a dark day that still struggles shaking certitudes and ideals.
Nothing appears to be true.
We are spectators of a different world, in a frail and tired time.
Doubts and deceptions, hypocrisies and prejudices tend their invisible net.
The pitch becomes doubtful. The mind feels a vertigo.
The truth is hidden behind veils, in the deep wood of appearances.

 

By continuing to navigate you declare to accept and consent to the use of cookies. To get more information check our COOKIE POLICY