Time runs out

And, who shall tell you, if not I, that there's no need
To dress and redress yourself with details,
That there's no need for you to keep
Spinning in front of the mirror?
Who'll lend you their eyes
For you to see what I see?

Who will see the light dancing
And a dark room lighting up of a sudden,
But the one that knows it's you,
Not the mysteries, nor the miracles?;
It's you, miraculous and mysterious spark,
That sheds light, as a star would, without taking notice.

Who could focus on the sublime
And, yet, subtle art,
That comes to life with your breath,
To might and rigor with your thoughts,
But unspeakable beauty, above all,
When you add emotion?

Who shall appreciate that,
The delicate balance which holds
Your exploits and ambitions?
A shame would be the silence,
Even if you yourself didn't break it,
And didn't speak the certainties that appertain you.

Who would forgive such an offense?
Not even I, for my sake, could.
Time runs out and life goes by.
Truth is kept by the wind
And its breath doesn't threaten her.
Though, who but I to shout it?

Let it be the wind itself who listens to me,
For, who but I shall say it?
You're a reflection, a light, a miracle and a mystery,
And I, your truest prophet and emissary,
Come so you know it yourself,
And so you never think otherwise.