He took the journal out that he doesn't have
He read the words that were not on the page
Out loud

I could smell the paper that wasn't there

He felt the wood on his fingertips
The binding that was old and frayed

I tasted life in my mouth like blood

Serenity crept in

I started to laugh

With a glint his eye
He stared intensely at the nothing

at everything



.....

In this life, feet catch fire
and
people burn

Remember your dream
when
it is your turn

You will see your ashes
but
you will manage to breathe

If
you sustain the flames
inside
your dreams

Your ashes will float
and
shimmer like gold

You will rise as a
Phoenix
with wings to behold

How is it that you have written a story about me
without even knowing me
How is it that you have translated my feelings
which I have no idea about
How is it that there are hundreds of words I've never used
describing my thoughts exactly
You have drawn me with a single stroke of brush
a replica the mirror can never make
is this my imagination or your imagination
who is creating me?

I am a small part of big
it comes from within
every cell of the body
working together in unison
to make me do what I make do
every each equal part
all through the heart,
neurons and veins.

a rebirth in the breath
same with the death
to openly give
lay arise to have and hold
simple things are gold
all the moments made
never will be sold.

a figure to figure
a passing second to record
the choice my made
and the lies I said
echoed in the universe
came back pronounced
it faces me the ugly side.

Who really knows
the knowledge of eternity
a purpose, wishful destiny
a very green envy
my own construct life
my existence roots
disrupt others.