Leaves dress the bridge of years
In deep sienna between my foliage eyes
Forest sweeps its sweet pleas against my tattered cheeks
I open the well of bone in my brows and temples
For blood roots to reliven the ash of my youth
The secret of the crow tattooed in mercury under my wings
Calligraphy left in cloven prints down my spine
To the base of my immortal case
I make before the judge of the universe
Only to be told
I’m on my own . . . .
We are not bodies with souls
We are souls that wear bodies
There’s a dark side to this
Did you know ?
Leaves dress the crown of my braids
Smooth pearls between my Asian eyes
In emerald
Trees separate for my blood prints
To the city
My trail in rubies
For the following Endz
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Comments: 52
Here is where we differ in view:
We are not bodies with souls
We are souls that wear bodies
For me:
We are not bodies with souls.
We are souls that are bodies.
We all definitely agree on the fact of the disguise. Our covering is only a tiny part of the disguise as Selena has hinted.
The disguise usually works so well that we deceive even ourselves, however, every now and then, "insight comes in the most amazing bursts of supraconnectivity".
Besides, every belief system must include the unprovable.
I interpret your poem as such awareness for you. That your soul, being seperate is objective. Do you consider your independent soul safe? Or are you sort of confused about that?
IMnsHO.
Well, I somehow connected to her world one day. And found out (contrary to what folks thought) this woman was not only highly intelligent but also aware of everything. And she was also happy. She had learned to control her world. I mean, this woman could shut her door to keep out idiots. Women who bathed/cared for her over an extended period of time were (some of them) locked out of her world.
It was amazing getting to know her! We developed communication! And what she taught me opened up the communication world of those in comas and the autistic, etc.
Beautiful imagery, per usual...
Thank you submitting to Gathers Luminous Writers and Artists.
The grass is emerald greener,
But only if we realize
It's not a pasture.
We are spirits, perhaps that is why we long so deeply to reach the heavens or that state of oneness with the universe. We may have agreed to be here, but only because we know we will return one day.