Driftwood

Flying on new wings is unusual arduous

And it's Innocuous

It's like the lookup out of an hopeless set-up

It's like you Need to learn How to Walk again,

like a human and profane.

And you are suprisingly smaller,

the world around you seems way taller.

And you are suprised by refexion,

as if everything is seen in a distant reflection of a higher Affection.

And you pray for it to stay

It's the highest one can be.

And in the eyes of the most,

the flea,

the ghost,

and the cannibal

something intangible.

You look for them but you can't find any.

You move to a city to be one of a many.

Some try to get around your neck,

but you rather go ahead.

Till you become anew,

maybe you'll discover that you are one of a few.

At least you wish

and that's what makes you flourish.

And you go deeper in,

as you got just Love within.

And you pray for it to stay

And it all floats down your spine,

but you don't have any Time,

as you want to dine with the divine.

And you don't think about the why,

as you just Walk by.

But you end up like driftwood

And the puddle of blood

Is forming a heart

To which you will enlighten a spark

And maybe you'll be like a piece of Art,

You could be God in a painting of Botticelli,

or just end up like Fulcanelly.

Maybe you'll be the shadow of goodwill,

to a crow walking still,

like a soldier through the snow.

Maybe you'll find in the hymnary a lost song And that's where you belong.

You realize that there is a trace in your face

And the door is in your eye

As you stop searching for the end of the sky.

As if you were all the time just waiting

And I guess that's your Pathos, undebating.

But it's for something unknown.

You're Waiting for it to be shown.

But you know that it's there,

something you breath like the air.

And you pray for it to stay

Besides all that, its just life

and you don't need any flickknife.

And you know that you are lighted as

You see it all many sided.

But most of all angelic.

But maybe you are just too pathetic,

You try to be poetic,

As you are Lost to romance by every chance.

To the birds doing a Dance

And To the rain in which you see a profane refrain,

as in the snow a innocent letting go.

And you are just roaming

and transforming.

You are formed by the tides,

till it all collides with the divine.

All this is a sign.

You prayed for it to stay.

And I guess it's a bless.

And you know that the shadow of the good is sometimes just burried in driftwood.

And I guess, that as you wish it maybe is.