In the middle of you
space where the soul hides
Juggling the heart and brain
shining out of your eyes
You could have this world with tree roots
or a pond´s surface
have it with human hands
Touch it for the heart´s beats are not infinite
Did life itself dab or perpetuate a brushstroke in forming you?
Or are you the motorbike
Simply an engine built for easily calculations
Tangible and loud
Whatever you feel will soon pass say the wise
Whatever you see is shaped by your servitude to mood
Thoughts stretch you out during the day
Lying to who you are
Logic is a warm blanket
Often the only way to survive the cold nonsense
without conditioning to the ice of mystery
You will march as a slave to form
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