Friday, April 15, 2011

Words of Distortion



Letters into words,
they become meaningless
when sleeping ears critique their form.
Every little curve. . .
definitions for minuscule cursive markings.
Endless days of this study turned my soul to mush,
or at least I thought.
For I fell deep into the earth
while I slept with no expectations,
looking around and realizing that my soul never left...
I was there the whole time,
birthing a new experience to later tell my mind,
but translations never came in pure form
because my soul speaks a language of its own.
It dances to the whistle of the wind,
and caresses itself in a circle of music,
which strings itself upon stairs of gold,
allowing me access whenever I please.
In a room occupied by organized chaos,
I transform my perception by falling,
falling deep into the earth again,
and rising up to meet my Self once more.
Then the scenery brightens & the people become pure,
leaving no trail of distortion in my mind.

1 comment:

Sandy Jorgensen said...

portfollio review must be a bitch! thank God for you and your limitless imagination!