She’s oppositely understanding life
What’s a soul?
That the questioning the third dimension
As she sits on the fence that divides black and white
In deep thoughts I see her grey-matter
Her green cloak matches her grey silver hair
She doesn’t belong to the world
A free roaming spirit
She talks of foliage, been around since
God’s first words of creation

My spirit, my soul

Unites rivers of life and bleeds
Donations to the earth’s pulses, she’s God
Has a black heart, but her skin is pure
She cries surely out of one an oasis
The other a dry-ocular that records to instill
Her memories with more stories
Souls travel deep into her, traveling
The souls of her tapestry
As she scrolls and erases
Smokes and sits alone in a dark room

In deep thought, she weeps alone in the
Third dimension, my spirit, my soul
An attempt of finding my countenance
Nothing but smoke
I chokes, she laughs
Then her speech becomes demonic, (yet out)!
She walks with prostitutes and kisses the
Hands of God, wounds cover her
Stabbed breast and picks up an orphan
From the slums to breastfeed from the other
Her name is ambiguity
Her nails are sunk deep into the earth’s roughage
She is an oak of mahogany
A green petal, a crystal, she’s cool
And dances into the pit of
Refined sulphur

My spirit, my soul

Torn between black and white
She smiles only to shy away
Comes back into the light only to recede
Back to dark
She weeps alone in the third dimension
As she’s oppositely understanding life

My spirit, my soul

Website developed by Lynn Danzig