Echoes Between “I” and Time
A poetic descent into the silence between self and eternity.

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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