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 featherly 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
Am 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.
Copyright 2020 Eiravel
Most of the time, when I start to write a poem, I only have ideas for the two or three first lines, and for the rest of the poem, I often need to get the needed inspiration from nature, reading, or music, and where, strangely, the poem I write, takes the form of something that really connects to me – as if, I had solved a problem concerning my situation.
Of course, it’s art for the sake of art, but more than often, I don’t know why, but I unconsciously unleash things of a profundity that I wasn’t aware before.
The soul, to me, is the intellect. Before, I didn’t need it, for I didn’t need to think that much, my whole life had only been flesh and corporeal. But now that I need it more than ever… Loll – because now that I need to think a lot, because writing is an intellectual thing, isn’t it? I need to find my intellect again – thus, this poetic metaphor, an ode to my own mind.
