All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, Im sure of that, and I intend to end up there. This drunkenness began in some other tavern. When I get back around to that place, Ill be completely sober. Meanwhile, Im like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary. The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice? Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul? I cannot stop asking. If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks. I didnt come here of my own accord, and I cant leave that way. Whoever brought me here will have to take me home. This poetry, I never know what Im going to say. I dont plan it. When Im outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 09:04:41 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015