Beauty in the Brain

The soul hovers beyond the trees,

beyond the clouds, beyond the stars.

I'm an empty shell that buys things,

and yet it's in me.

 

Does it flutter beyond the broken columns

and green glades, whispering their beauty

into my brain?

perhaps their in me too.

 

The soul is a ball of light that flutters

beyond. It's a jagged ball,

with edges that cut.

It's a mouth that feeds upon itself.

 

Yet the soul is also the glades

and hills and broken columns

it's the part of me that knows

and doesn't know.

The soul is bigger than the self

that seeks it.