Separate you've ever hoped for.
We will see a time
When there is nothing
We will almost remember.
Approach what was there,
We cannot comprehend what has been lost.
Only reminded of that closed room in your nightmares.
How much would we give to have those four walls back ?
What is the weight of absence.
Then comes the day,
We forget there this meaning of,
Horizon.
Then comes the day,
We might as well die.
Because life is like that.
That 's just the way things are.

But it's sooner than you think.

The beauty is
I wrote you a poem
You didn’t understand.
You couldn’t answer
My question
Because you didn’t know
I asked one.
Therefore I don’t know
The truth
Or how to ask you
In a way
That you’ll understand.
Because you don’t
Seem to understand much.
What was this involuntary
Movement towards the
Imaterial part of me?
Or was it in fact
Voluntary?
How will you understand
I was talking about my
Soul?

Today the air is enlightened -
Rich in velvet echoes,
Urging me to embrace the outside.
Where colours play loud
And I was plain white.

... the sun looked frightened.

I breathed the life around
Felt the happiness, but not mine -
A dense silence folowed me behind,
I heard voices - "It's time to hide"
One gaze and they became white.


I looked ahead and hills have awakened.
Timeless monsters shove the sun away,
The life around was dreadfully shaken
My skin is evaporating - my feet sway;

I looked down and my legs were white smoke -
My hair is dancing all over the sky,
Breathing isn't necessary here - invoke
The soul I once had and make it stay

Between imaterial ashes and words said
Decades ago, in a basement of white roses -
Metalic touches, the unworthy innocent  
Will lie in dreams of the chosen
Drowning in my opaque eyes.

Nothingness looks surreal and bright
From here -
Slowly I will fade to white
*"And all the sudden, I can feel..."

For got about this thread, recent revelations
about how messed up my sense
of religion became
during my failed conditioning
to accept divine authority offered as self evidence,
without seeing a slight wink, truth makes thinkers think and thinking leads away
from lies used
to spiritually analogize authorized versions
of stories and lists
of property.
Who owns what by divine edict, do the math.

What is not easy, that is difficult,
what has many correct creases and folds, that
may become life
at the level
of things and thought,
spirit and truth,
imaterial pre real
no two minds in one, and not the other,
we must breed
to the best
in the matching
of wits,

this is the titans versus the Olympians alover again,
a
lover
of what may be, let us imagine, truth, essential,
as an assisting intelligence fed all we knew
in 2022,

and allowed
to guess what certain philosophies might
guage the worth
of being me, the author and finisher
of these lines,
in the future
from ever before,
promethean and epimethean means
of making time sensible
in simple but not too simple,
in between extremes
of fine ness,
from wall solid,
to breeze fluid fitting shear joy
on mere wonder, if one were
to bet one's life,
on a dive
into the unknown, known
to have swallowed
entire cosmogonies leaving mere scratches, hoping

to pass advantage
to the meek, as Moses, hoping,
from Pisgah, hoping
to see our day, and marveling… how easy being is.