We Are Beyond Our Flesh

We Are Beyond Our Flesh 

Its as if I am but an extension to my actions. That what I choose and what I do, are truly not mine. I have felt the darkest dark's, and the brightest brightest. I have wallowed in the silence of the damned and laughed among the angels. And in all these strange wanderings, I have come to see that I am not me. That I am not the skin upon my flesh nor the bones that keep me upright.

I am more than the eyes that sit inside my head like beads. I am more than the fingers that plunge into the creation of writing. There is much I cannot explain, nor do I wish to. But I feel as if every moment I am awake. There is a force that wishes to pull me. That wishes to see me design, mend, and be.

I have dreamt the most vile visions and dreamt of the most beautiful views. But in these dreams I feel as if they are not truly me. That it is not the nerves that spark the thoughts, the visions. But that they are creation beyond my control, beyond what I see. For too often am I silent in my action and when I lay to rest. The vividness of something divine comes rushing in like a broken dam. Leaving all thoughts that do not naturally exist to drown.

And in the rushing of this dam, I feel a sense of lucidness, as if I have no control over the whims of my thoughts. These thoughts that scream so loud, that their throats bleed if I do not rescue them. If I do not pull them from the rushing of the waters.

For too many times I have ignored their calls, their pleads, believing they will return to me. But in the end, I feel them drown, I feel them choke on my ignorance and my neglect.

I do not know what this is, but I know I am not alone in this drifting of talent. For I know of others whose guts twist in the imagery of thought. In the gushing of creation, only to feel the same as I. And we converse with excited lips and wide eyes. Sipping in spirits to loosen our dry bind of our lame minds. For it can be difficult to find the soul that lives within. When the physical is thought to be all that is to be.

But like the body feels to music, one just feels. One just moves to the rhythm as to which they experience. Vibrating with each note, making what is intangible, feel as if to be edible to the soul. Building a force that no one truly knows.

For what is it, that gives us the thoughts we think, we think? What gives us the ability to feel before we even hear? What gives us breath before we ever find our life? What gives us the motives to construct before we can ever speak? 

Thank you for reading, do you think there is something beyond us? 

If you enjoyed this, then you will really enjoy A Man's Traveled Heart
Follow me on Twitter and Facebook for FB and TWT only poems! 


Popular posts from this blog

A Summer Bird's Winter Perch