Thousands of eyes,
looking at my sleeping body.
After my false awakening,
I saw them,
still trapped in the dream.
They were recording
my every painful breath.

Eyes without eyelids,
dense, dark air.
I became an unexpected glitch
in the imposed system.
They just didn’t know
what to do with me.

The spiders around my bed
were watching over
the meaning of my existence.

I had only a deep need
to find a place
for all elements
of the broken vessel,
the black pupils,
the witnesses
to my faltering walk.

I am not yet a butterfly.
I am the caterpillar
in a long ego tunnel.

Thomas was right.

To heal,
I must keep going
and going
until all becomes
one seamless whole,
ready to transform
into a flying being,
free from the chain of wounds,
sacrificed
on the altar
of broken Ego.

What lies ahead of us

The Poet's Task

Is to understand the beings that exist
with love and
to discover the
truth they conceal

as vividly as possible

The anxiety of love
The rest of love
banishing the sorrow of existence
the sacred love
this unfathomable love
wandering between heaven and earth
gifting the happiness of creation

The foolishest Love
removing corruption and incompetence
that must be filled
by the poet of this age.

Growing weary on the road,
respite seemingly out of grasp, wild
eyes cast their silver-yellow sullen

warning to the ground below as we crane
our twisted necks up: a meager offering
to the ones who walked the path before

Horned owl, languid head turning, collects
our astonished gasps like cold gleaming
rubies once tossed into a ravine or river —

nearby, the fog rolls in: curious bystander
ever intent on pulling the heavy curtain aside
to devour the last tasty morsels in the thrill

of a bygone moment — reckless and ripe
with the bloodstains of youth, the hunger
departing and returning in an instant

I love a long holiday and as a general rule
you’ll find me out by a turquoise pool
cause it’s hot outside and I’m nobody's fool.

Closing my eyes I lazily daydream
listening to my favorite musical streams
umbrella shaded from harsh sunbeams.

I’ve put away polemic school assignments
for leisure and tastier desultory refinements
like buffalo wings, pizza and ***** martinis
and the barely there cool of a string bikini.
.
.
Songs for this:
Digging your scene by Ivy
The Big Sky (Special Single Mix) by Kate Bush
Can't Be Like This Forever by The Moving Stills

Sunday, on the 29th of June
I was having a great time as delightful
It was only my first experience, to the bakery of the road entrance
It was a good feeling to buy a three loaf of bread
And only today I was having a great day,
To meet the shoppers.

Have you got enough
To do it?

How's your supply?
Will it see you through it?

And those who
Gather round
Are they here for you?
Or just gossip bound?

Ration now thy scant resources
Lest there be some
Harsh recourses.

Learn to let go of people,
for sometimes it gives you peace...
Ase.
Am dull, dark and peaceful,
I am death.
What a noisy breath I bear,
Like a patient in coma, who only machines are keeping alive,
Rejoicing.
Maybe, a true genius looks for
Eternal peace in death,
Last, stop looking for me, while I am simply hiding... 💀👅🩸

How to read my poetry:

Read it with your eyes, they will show you what I say
See it with your heart, it guides the way
Read it with your mind, keep it open to the truth
Use your understanding to verify the proof
Let it get in your dreams, read it while you sleep
Let it get in your soul and I hope it will keep

When you finish, read it once again
This time with feeling, like blowing in the wind
After that, quietly reflect on the story
Did you find it sweet and nice or ****** and gory

Try and remember your favorite line
Maybe the one about yours or the one about mine
Dry your eyes, blow your nose, get to the funny parts
The one about true love and two broken hearts
You can read them over and over; they never get old
Some of my best lines are as good as gold