Outside my soul

Outside my soul

By espacioreal | elespacioreal | 15 Sep 2021


The raven flies with my soul hanging from its moment leaning against the piano. Beat the specter to freeze in a single swing, above lightning without thunder.
The keys draw melodies to the strokes of Gaugin that wind dwarfed lightning and the crow slides his bronze hand, arpegia, the future brings me closer.
I look flat and take more moments, each one of a different color, different harmony, different.
The absent thunder compromises the days that I see, it is not there, it has gone forever as Gaugin tolls on the piano, a clear future lightning that grinds my soul to the raven flight, a transparent absence and wasteland that I will never see of being thunder.
The present then has been overcome and returns to the place from which it never came.
It oscillates doubts that the raven squeezes between its claws. Doubts that stretch between him and the lightning bolt.
Outside my soul is cold, it spends the night at the piano that stealthily turns aura of shadow with each stroke.
The crow is a contralto, he looks with eyes of fire and removes my soul from doubts, only what I am with this soul in flight escaping from the thunder.
Its roots of wind that work skulls with mortar of guts and rags.
I go back and sound alto, more piano than soul and more raven than thunder.
My incubated soil slime that decrepit pierces its ice.

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espacioreal
espacioreal

A veces leo.

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