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.