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.

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