1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

Is my shadow my soul?
Or is my soul my shadow?
Both come with me.
Why would they be separate?
Can my soul live also in my shadow?
Can my shadow hide my soul?
Shadow in the sun, indicates fun.
Shadows in the dark always give rise to fright.
Is my shadow the duality of my soul?
My inner struggle with bad and good?

A shadow is where direct light cannot reach due to
obstruction by an object.
This I know.
Is the obstruction my soul?
The soul, in many religious, philosophical, psychological,
and mythological traditions, is the incorporeal and,
the immortal essence of a person or living thing.
So what is the shadow?
The dark part of our souls?
Or, as many would have it a scientific result.
Soul = object of spirituality
Shadow= result of science

The ancient Greeks believed air, as opposed to solid earth, to be incorporeal.
Ancient Persians believed fire to be incorporeal in that every soul was said to be produced from it.
We humans are mostly water.
We humans live on earth.
Each of the four elements manifests in us.
Our shadows and souls must therefore,
relate to human activity on the principle of "as above, so below"
My shadow and soul are me

⠀            there is one girl i know.
⠀            her voice is of angels,
⠀            too perfect for this earth.

⠀            her voice could make
⠀            even the most stubborn
⠀            flowers bloom early.

⠀            her voice is the rising sun
⠀            and i can’t wait to wake up.

⠀   yes i do like music and catchy tunes
⠀         but the song that is your voice
⠀              is my favourite one yet.

⠀                          - BZQ

Pack of lies explode
        as a match stick  
lighten gasoline.

paint on callused fingertips,
paint dyeing German beer,
paint flickering fluttering trembling
across bare canvas skin as you
finesse, ink and watercolor at your
whim while you work. you are no
Caravaggio, much more a Gentileschi,
but Michelangelo himself would be
awed by your radiance, the subtle
art of your face and
brushstrokes of your curves,
spine sinuous undulating while you
dance for him.

I've been begging for you
to tell me something new for
months upon months, to tell me
that you are not the same,
that you cannot stand me,
that "I love you" was the Great Lie;
but you will not no never
you're too good for something so
base as hate or someone so
base as me but
you're still here and I
love you
and hate myself for it.

I cannot read you a poem so good
for I can write none,
nor play you a song so tuned
for you’ve heard better,
nor write you a letter so accurate,
for my language cannot convey such -

such flame in my chest,
spreading as fast as forest fire
when the thought of you meets me
behind my troubled thoughts
you sweep, as heavy rain falls
on Amazon.