New Born Words

  

Dancing with the sparks of wild fire,
The words forget the worlds above and below...
As the stench of the burning woods slips into the never ending heavens
The poetry swims gently in the streams of the ink...
As if the time has lost its desire to change its form
The world seems to be painted in the white,
As white and pure as the poetry being sung by the heart drenched in pain or joy...

The strings making love with the winds
Knowing that they will pierce through the music of its heart,
The music, pure in its form...
As the words slip by from the mind tangled up in the crowded thoughts
to hit the earths, shattered to pieces...
broken words crawling as the poet lays down to anchor the eyes in the dark heavens,
To form a bond, the poetry...

Just the winds and the music making noise as the worlds sleep,
Nothing but the rhythm as the words dance with the fire...
No star or clouds to steal the gaze as his eyes fall in Love with the eternal dark skies,
To admire the beauty of solitude born out of divorce with the Crowd
No feeble relations, no more crowds, no more usual world...
As the poet lets the Words dance with the sparks for eternity,
The poetry still trying to find the broken pieces,
As the music sings its own song of Funeral...

The new soul is born out in the wild,
Uncivilized and untamed.