Souls That Sleep on the Fabric of the Cosmos

Death became them.

Reveling in the sky of hope they glared at.

Falling dreams.

Is this the land where all that is conjured lives?

Enchantments become whispers of truth.

Wings become food to be devoured on Libra scales.

Can you consume yourself.

Eat the darkest parts of your being.

Feed on your own broken light.

Is the prison of the soul a house with jaded windows?

Will the glass be shattered by eyes?

The panes have become eyelids and the doorways our tongues.

The carpets our sorrows.

The stains our actions.

Will the winding staircase unwind the mind?

Will each key unlock Pandora?

Are we merely lost beings from ancient bloodlines trying to find our way home.

What if we were born in the sky.

And as the moon gave it’s last wail the oceans became embryonic fluid.

Hence our connection with the sky.

Our penchant for fragments of light.

We pocket universes each time we hesitate.

Leaving pathways to other selves unopened.

Vibrating to the rhythms of the earth.

Sleep surrenders itself on different planes of existence.

In this instance

Who are you ? Remains a question that frightens us.

Do we exist in the abyss or are we on a surface of lies?

Is the line a sketch of the stars?

Are we distant constellations?

Riding Pegasus across star systems

Solar heartbeats.

Enlightened Rings.

See Saturn gave birth to Titan a brother to Enceladus fathered by time.

Leaving her rings as broken promises so she can never love her days.

So as we question the night may we understand the light.

Carrying photons on fingertips but maybe that energy is just the soul.

Peeling through the corridors of the mind.