That’s Me; Exposé

With what to compare me?
With the paddle, which plunges into the depths of the sea, and then gaining traction on the surface?
With crops that are lead by the wind?
With a flower that stands motionless, waiting for an idle admirer?

I will compare my soul with the deep sea in which high and low tide are altering each other. My eyes are like a white seagull who has lost his sense of direction and the vast open sea. Sea currents are pulling my spirit on the surface of an offshore dream. I am roaming around the dusty corners of my dream and I am fighting to pull out his best part. I’m going without a goal and sometimes I stop just to ask myself the same question again – can white doves and spooky eagle be a couple? Perhaps they can be a couple only as disparate concepts. The incomparable.

Have I driven by a sense? I’d say that is a dreamy enthusiasm which is guiding my heart through life. Yes, that’s me. An ordinary soul who is dreaming more than it should be. Then sometimes, on the other side, where exist other birds and flowers, a new thought appears. The thought that encourages inspiration and forces me to get out of the mouse hole. Almost I can feel the wings growing on my back. I’m beginning to fly high above predators that want to tear me. Cold-hearted beasts with no sense of beauty.

My residence is inter-space. Somewhere between the sun and the moon. In the moonlighting, I am embracing the dreams and the sunshine gives them eternity. I want to believe that I can surpass reality and soar to the stars. I want to go over in another dimension where my soul comes from. All grooves I made were part of my trip. Each of them has long trodden and each remained as solid proof of my fights. They were often set fire in my heart and I was burning in turmoil many times. But just like a Phoenix, I get up every single time. In spite of them. In honor of the arts. In my name, I was winning, even when I was losing. And every time I lost, I voluntarily took poison from whom I have become immune.

I can give you my acts only. They are my blood filled with words. On these narrow corridors of life, searching for fragments of myself, and dragging the battles behind, I still, don’t know my essence.

~ Zorica ~

The Art of Joey Havlock