Echoes Between “I” and Time
A poetic descent into the silence between self and eternity.
Echoes Between “I” and Time
By Lucian Leith
I feel heavenly when I could be “I” ,
if in abstraction to realm and claim;
in the other hand, I raise the wine and say:
where is my mind?
Sing — a song by a bird who lost his chord,
a tiger on view, haunting me,
my eyes gazed like a veil,
a drop of water mixed with one of tears,
my toxic treat.
Which one could survive without him gain!!
as much as the creepers run on stream,
not of consciousness,
but instead, a loop with time,
dancing with places
as if they had never been .
Beneath those eyes
a potion of love,
whispered by the lips of a witch ,
that’s why I always look further,
beyond her lovely soul,
inside her mind,
as a symbol she could never reach,
ever and over time.
It’s my horrible way,
my faithful road,
still maximizing the infinite
by a piece of silver .
as they said, Judas once betrayed Jesus for silver,
and for me,
a silver is the cause of pain.
And if you ask me :
which way I choose my suffer and pain?
A needle or a pen?
About the Creator
LUCCIAN LAYTH
L.LUCCIAN is a writer, poet and philosopher who delves into the unseen. He produces metaphysical contemplation that delineates the line between thinking and living. Inever write to tellsomethingaboutlife,but silences aremyway ofhearing it.
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More stories from LUCCIAN LAYTH and writers in Poets and other communities.
"The Resident of Pain"
I am not a blank page, but the remains of a book which was not written and burned. To me no explanation wants... I have no presumptions about necessitating explanation. I am in this sound which has not softened. and the features that have not been made to smile. I do not tidy up my mess, but leave it a monument of what I have experienced. Any of my silences is a tale, and everything in my eyes turns the temporal and superficial. I am not a passer-by of pain... but a resident of it, I know it as I know my name... And I purchase it as picking up an ugly fate. I do not seek salvation, or raise my head towards the sky. I am the son of the heavy earth, and sister of primeval solitude. I already know something about darkness, and I shake my hands with it every single night and never tremble... and I know how to stare at it without asking to be lit... I am no beast that could be argued... but perceived... and feared.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH2 months ago in Poets
Comments (1)
Pen, please. Let ink flow instead of blood. I see you fighting. Keep writing through it, and get outside among some trees if you can. The Japanese have a word for it. 💞