I saw the stillness of the light inside the candle on the table
upon which I was moving
my pen across yellowish paper sheets
the smell of coffee made with care
brought me back to the morning
of a life that had once been mine
The memory of a life still residing
in the ancient chambers of my human mind
my feet stepped upon the complicated, dusty underground
I could not quite call sand
as sand was not made of the
white crumbly rests of tortured
bones once having belonged to souls
like mine, except for the rifles in their
hands and the roar of guns in their ears.
My hand felt their pain
through that one brown corn that my bare feet
had catapultated into the vast area of
invisible experiences of past spirits inhabiting strong and less strong skeletons
moving upon the rythm of their
own breath, misguided by the
thousand and one breaths around them
Universal hands, maybe those of God
Maybe those of my disillusional
Self, pushed me further
through the with symbols engraved door
the runes I knew enlightened me with a feeling of belonging
I knew was less of a lie
than the usual through alcohol awakened
hallucinations of being
someone else belonging to somebody else
or anything else that made me
forget the non-earthly space I knew
I could call home but of which
I always seemed to lose the acces code
Instead I was gifted this skin and
the ability to make it look human
on sunny days and on days
of rain it would produce not only
sound but also the salty water
coming from Atlantis, channeled through
eyes showing a piece of the
truth if the spirit inside would decide
to let down the ancient silver armor
chasing away the lines of
pure divine
unclothing the essence and the unlocked
doors transforming into portals
before my bare eyes
where fingers that I think belonged to me
were grabbing into seemingly white
air looking for a proof
While the only proof she will ever have
Is the reality emerged from poorly
written words in the morning or night
next to a dying candle and a cup
of cold coffee, in one of the
many places she called home