I’m coming back to you on a wing of storm (an ode to the mind) A sky teared, opened A form, levitated, hovered My body trembled, raptured Everything around, fell down, so sad I tried, likewise, to reach But my mind, ran away, to a beach But still, our link, unbroken Our eye, remote, and hidden I realized, my only pleasure, taken You were lost, then thought, forsaken Oh my feathery soul, I had to find you Wherever you were, under that sky so blue Am coming back to you, on a wing of storm Tearing my flesh to find again your form My corporeal, its core, was attracted, and gravitated Around man-made planets, all, illusions But now, that I have dragged myself out I’m coming back to you, on a wing of storm Ready to dive inside the cosmic ocean There where without any attraction We'll only float, carried by the current Until we touch, and remember, what we have been. -Eiravel-
This poetic metaphor is an ode to the mind. Before I indulged myself in writing and thinking hard about how to write and how to do this and that, I wasn’t using my brain for hard thinking purposes, I wasn’t even thinking for myself, on my own. Now it’s different, I have to remain entirely focused when I’m thinking about what to write, and when I’m writing, I need to use my brain to the maximum.