There is something in the air, as usual,
it’s the meanings that elude
the awakenings of the soul.
And if you, reader, are asking yourself what
me, the writer, means by awakenings of the soul,
I answer: I don't know.
I nod to the first person I meet,
say goodmorning, go on with the morning.
Morning is a speck of dust, it moves fast,
you (me) are left dangling on the cliffs
of imagination. I might be a brave
hero, a tragic anti-hero, you know,
life isn't heroic, but today the sun is shining
reminding me of birth.