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ronnie-james-corbinPoems
It's warm. Like smoke, Shapeless, Pushing my sins through my pores To be cleansed by the crying sky. This feeling, This reality Is crumbling down Around my feet.... With arms wide, and skyward eyes I look for the answers.. This rain... It dwells inside the cave of my Self. Past the Guardians Past the ego, the shadow, The Anima, the Animus, This truth I hold now It comes to me as Red and floating, weightless Wrapping around my conscience, Lifting me up, to the heights of This existence To the levels of a higher sentient. I am safe here. With chills in my spine, And closed, but wandering eyes, I peer inside, The only place I can really call home.
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Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
My Perception of the Purity of Consciousness.
It's warm. Like smoke, Shapeless, Pushing my sins through my pores To be cleansed by the crying sky. This feeling, This reality Is crumbling down Around my feet.... With arms wide, and skyward eyes I look for the answers.. This rain... It dwells inside the cave of my Self. Past the Guardians Past the ego, the shadow, The Anima, the Animus, This truth I hold now It comes to me as Red and floating, weightless Wrapping around my conscience, Lifting me up, to the heights of This existence To the levels of a higher sentient. I am safe here. With chills in my spine, And closed, but wandering eyes, I peer inside, The only place I can really call home.
ronnie-james-corbin
Written by
ronnie-james-corbin
28/American
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
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