Poem of my soul.

I open my chest for you to see the millions of stars falling out of me.  Millions of wishes and millions of dreams, falling and falling out of my seams.  I am stuffed with the universe with ten thousand suns, I am stuffed with the wholeness of all things as one.

I open my gut and out comes my eggs, thousands and thousands like fine caviar.  Vermilion, carnelian, scarlet and rose, I pull myself open and out it flows.  I am rife with a passion that is equal to none.

I open my skull and a frothing pour forth, spilling and rilling it splashes and gurgles, bubbles and boils and babbles and baubles.  I crack it wide open and look whats inside.  I am flooded with ideas that burn like the sun.

I hold out one hand and it multiplies ten fold, it is covered with pigment, and pin pricks and pens.  It opens and opens and opens again.  It reaches and draws and paints and sews tight, all of the things my being holds tight.  I am bursting with creations that are shall never be done.

I have no idea where it may go from there or what, it feels like Dr. Seuss.

To look outside you would think it is warm.  The sky is so blue and the sun shines brilliant in the clear sky.  The plants lie in that state between growing and dormancy waiting for the air to be above freezing.  But it is not and a cold arctic wind is blowing strong over the garbage and salt and sand strewn streets.

I am filled with this feeling that is warm though.  My insides feel good.  And I relish it.  I bask in the spring that is blooming inside of me.  I will say nothing of it, just feel it as it fills me.  They tell me my countenance has changed.  I just know I am sleeping better.  And it shows.

I am at a loss for words.  Ideas are spinning in a great power ball basket waiting for that whoosh of air to draw it to the top.  I practice waiting for the next breath to come, as it does.  Again and again until it doesn’t.  I am love.

 

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