The dark is silence, sleep, calmness, and all those little lights, thoughts that travel, feelings and emotions, are what animate life — writing is a lively act.

Metaphorous Mind Matter

And in a heartbeat my ink it cried 
Bleeding words, spilling it over
Spilled ink on immaculate sheets,
And like phosphorus beams 
Something vibrant and colorful 
Came to life, was born —
A metaphorous birth of characters 
Indulged of my mind matter
Farfetched from the gaseous 
The eternal thing from the past
Where chaos is the silence
Where atoms dance lavishly 
Lighting up that darkness.
And in a pulsating heartbeat
My ink transfused like blood
On all those immaculate sheets 
So as to become concrete words.

-Eiravel-