The Invisible Labyrinth

For those who know what to see
there will always be at the end of the labyrinth
of life
a golden door.

If you pass through, you will discover a courtyard
with moss, stone paving,
and two sumptuous cedars with
sleeping birds.
(You will not find here the music of Orpheus,
but only silence.)
Cross the courtyard, and you'll see another door.
Open it.
Inside, in the gloom,
you’ll see a wall
and on the wall, some blurred words
from whose simplicity springs light
that slowly passes to you and gives back to you
at last freedom,
the fullness of being:
"Praise always
the sweetest words
that heal: peace and goodwill".

And then, profoundly alone,
you will see that you find yourself in front of another door
you cannot open,
because it is not the time:
it will take you perhaps to another labyrinth,
the last invisible labyrinth.
Is there a way out from there?
(We can only hope,
hope in the sure protection
of those blurred letters
that heal.)