Sometimes the colour of your world
changes back to its truest of hues,
and all you can do is close your eyes and smile,
with the light bouncing on and off your face.
If I took the time
and filled this space
to tell you who I believe myself to be,
would you find fool or monarch?
And would that be mine light or thine?
Are we not reflected in the mirrors of all souls perceived?
Is it the shape of the object
or the light reflected which determines its colour?
Are they separable?
Are you, separable from light?
Would you survive; formless in the void of isolation?
Some days I’m of noble blood, living on foreign beaches.
Drinking fine wines and keeping company majestic.
Other days I’m homeless and hoping that next meal will soon find me.
I am my slave ancestors.
I’m a poet.
The truest I know how to be,
in my life and love and pain constant yet curving.
I’m a poet in my (cowardly) cravings.
Today I am free of you and I and all we’ve ever dreamt I ought to be.
For in my words are my wings
and you will clip not my tongue nor my fingertips.
If there be a constant in my life,
it’s that change will soon be upon me,
stealing me away to days high and days low;
ushering me nobly;
dragging me through dust.
Originally wrought for the About section of my page. Too fun not to share.
If I could fuck words, believe me I would.