Poetry day metaphor

what has been yesterday
can be another way
as relative as speed of light
with no one out of  the sight
the same story is old
where the search
is only for a context
where truth seems gold.
so above this word lake
under a same puzzled sky
drew in light blue fake
washed away in dark paint
where souls pray and faint
there is reason of some kind
but maybe i'm so wrong
or maybe i'm so wright
just a trick of my mind
another beam of an Architect's light.

Gallardo (as for the Poetry day personal contribution)

POeTRY day - Black old death

Black old Death

It smells like mold here

My unrestless thin fingers

Carved through my skin

With swiveling eyes in fear.

Perhaps I didn’t care

For the burning body

That alone left its soul

Lied in the misty despair.

It took a long while

Until the black cloak

Covered my sight

As concealing my smile.

Patiently felt my bones to walk

And shacked up the dust

Brought from the deep

Where voices slept scream and talk

Who was that unknown shadow?

The worst seek nightmare?

Or merely a passenger fellow?

That simply stood and stare.

I flew over and around

Felt against my face a breeze

And drops of blood I found

They were thoughts I squeeze

From a cold freezing night

That insisted to come in a dream

At the dawn over the light

As a black mask in Venice stream.

Through such oil dark paint

I let it join and sing for me

For nothing: just sound and faint

As an owl, I waited and intent see.