Thought - Cathedral

Oh, what a pleasent silence dominated the thought - 
cathedral in the bygone times.
I remember the pale moonbeams that shone through the narrow
 windows I didn´t dare to approach
- fragile figures of light that gave the icons life in the 
twighlight with such an exquisite tenderness that amazed me
 again and again.
In such moments I used to observe the children of the moon 
dancing on the shady flag stones, enmishing the rigid 
statues and trying to elicit them cautious smiles.
Very often I sat under vast vaults of marble musing deeply 
on this diffuse why, sometimes startled by a shouting 
jester or this scintillating veil of ignorance and lacking 
comprehension - but this reflecting fool´s stream of 
consciousness never ended.
Now and again I stirred at the altar flanked by mighty 
arcades that towered into the opaque nothingness of 
devouring doubts.
Neither ornaments nor vague inscriptions embellished the 
still columns and walls in this dim palace that reminded me
 from time to time of a terribly vast shroud of tenderly 
falling rain.
A fragile sheen of rememberance then glittered from afar 
relating of times before I closed my eyes to fall endlessly
 and to roam in unknown spheres in search of the thought - 
cathedral. Finally, I reached it and I felt relief.
But now ...?
Although I understood such delusive visions, they 
enlightened my mind. During serenades of Chopin and 
Tschaikowsky the horned serpent Ninnghizhidda winded up the
 arcades murmuring cryptic spells. Enki, the father of deep
 sang ancient poems in a warlike manner, and I saw the 
majestic gardens of Babylon and Ur in their spendid times.
The colours of chaos revealed brutally to my bleeding eyes;
I observed my anxious face emerging from an ocean of devine
 subjugation, laughing idiotically and being drunk of 

transcendent wine that got soiled by the cruel tyranny of 
decadent gods in battle.
My face ... a desperate mask of ignorance.
My hands ... grabbing for the wildly swirling thoughts in 
these halls of disorder.
I remember that I awkwardly tried to catch some of these 
chaotic reflections that took on farcical forms.
Sometimes I captured one of those poplymorphous entities.
Then a shrewd idea lamented in my merciless grey hands. In 
such moments a suffocating desire strangled my throat ... I
 felt the necessity of obtruncating and dissecting such 
whimpering thought - shivers and I suffered from this cruel
 need that filled me up.
That is what was, that is what is - I still dwell in the 
thought cathedral musing deeply on this diffuse why, 
sometimes startled by a shouting jester. I am haunted by 
delusive ideas of cognition that try to engulf my 
reflection.
Eons are passing by.
There´s always hope when I succeed in catching one of those
 swirling ideas, studying its subtile anatomy. I am waiting
 infinitely for the day I understand the thought - 
cathedral´s architecture.
That is what was, that is what is - but will this ever be?