The unit of my feelings.
The unit of my worlds.
The unit of my insides.
~ 36 ~
Maybe you’re just too scared to hold the fire of your heart in your hand.
Maybe you’re just too afraid to burn the world, trying to build yours.
Maybe you’re not brave enough, yet, to fly high and spread the flame of creativity growing within you.
Maybe you just haven’t realized, yet, that you’re a dragon.
And not just a simple mockingbird.
~ 37 ~
Hug me with your words, writer.
Build me a shelter with your oblivious letters.
Pour some of your immortal love in a cup for me to drink.
For I have forgotten what it’s like to love, to feel, to live.
Build me a house of your words and feelings, make me feel safe again, for fear has found in me a home, and refuses to leave my tortured heart-cabin, no matter means I use to cast it away. Please, hide my terror in your lines, and tell my story in the dark, so that no other soul can hear my whispers, or
~ 38 ~
catch the reflection of my shadow in the mirror of your eyes.
Hug me with your soul, writer, for I have lost trust in mortals.
I’m dying, slowly, soul keeper, so immortalize me on paper, and let what’s left of me live forever in-between the pages of your life, in-between the lines of your glamourous words, carrying a bit of me with each drop of ink.
Bring me back to life, writer.
~ 39 ~
*** Set free your caged bird
And you’ll learn how to fly. You were born with wings.
Why prefer to crawl? ***
~ 40 ~
She keeps her feelings and lost memories in a green stained box, locked with an ancient, elvish spell.
Her secret garden of the soul has never been violated, nor has a human wandered in her mind, for she always casts protecting spells, before leaving her shelter and joining the outside world. She never feared the dark, nor has she felt any kind of worry towards death.
She walks alone, followed by a holy silence only her heartbeats break. She is never fully conscious, for a part of her mind remains lost in the parallel world she lives in; somewhere between the trees of immortal kindness of her
~ 41 ~
heavenly forests, and the green lava of the volcanos of her tormented soul.
She never looks at a bird and sees it as a bird, but rather as a creature that holds some of the stardust we’re made of, and therefore a part of the cosmos we live in.
She never looks at a valley flower and sees it as one, but rather as a fairy from a forgotten world, where humans and the rest of the living creatures once lived in peace and harmony.
She sees the beauty and the magic in every little thing she comes across, but the tragedy of the human life has made her hopeless, has turned her sweet, loving heart into a burnt museum of fossilized dreams and haunted paintings of her mind. She no longer trusts any human, nor does she see the light in the darkened hollows of their hearts.
~ 42 ~
She lost faith in humanity, she lost faith in the world.
She lost faith in herself.
For she feels too weak to make a change.
For she senses her flame dying a bit every day, because of the winds of hatred and anger.
She still fights for this world.
She still fights for her heart to stay alive.
She still fights, because she’s a warrior.
Sent to restore love and honesty, in all those dead, sinking hearts of empty humans.
~ 43 ~