My flesh is made of matter:

a house of cards that shatters

when the uncontrollable vibrations

swirl the self in drastic situations,

impossible for particles to reach,

where souls can learn to teach.

If only Life can make us scholars…

Do we experiment as body owners?

The phantasms in my dreams

make nothing of what it seems…

And I’m just a dreaming loner

who dreams experiences of personas…

But the ego does not feed and dress

when I feel I matter less and less…

And only matterless I will surrender

when there’s nothing to remember…

My peace lies in all that’s to be forgot

accepting trustfully I matter not.


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