With all the terror and peril which flow,
of earth and water and air and fire,
of sex and battle and madness,
of torrid vengeance, seduction, and deadly revenge,
Psyche lived to see the light of day,
And living in the light of the Pleiades,
While Mother Moon smiled on her,
Had with a human heart she coexisted,
With the hearts of men and gods.
If you think you have read enough of my stuff, I have heard there is a ton more. I am currently hard at work on a book. It is far too much for a single person to write. I could not believe it. No one would believe me anyway, but I do not really care. One day it will all be done, and I will let you see how it is all put together.
Why is there so much anger? I am not really sure. I think it is part of the very process. The soul must come to terms with its own pain. It must let go of the things of earth and of the very depths of pain. It must let go of what it thinks is the only thing it has ever known. It must let go of all that to come together to become a soul. This soul is not enough for one day. One year. One life. One lifetime. This is why so much is constantly hurt in the world. Sometimes these hurts are physical, like the blows that cause pain to one’s skin. Sometimes the wounds of the soul cause more damage. We destroy our hopes by killing our dreams. I do not want to destroy this work. It is part of me and of everything that I am. I will not allow anyone to destroy it. It will be the story of how the soul becomes a soul, and of how that soul will strive to preserve its beautiful state. Some of the things I have learned may be very little, but they are important. I have been in so much pain over so many years. I feel I have let people down by having so much pain, when the cause was not mine. So I let go of all of that and I know I will survive. This is all very heavy and not very uplifting, but it is true. This book, my spirit, my whole being has been in that place for so long that it has become my existence. It is really very hard to let go.
Now let me leave you with one last thought. If I am telling you this in the vain hope that you will be able to understand me, please realize that my goal is not to make you read what I write. My goal is to get you to read it. Please do so. My writing is not important. The only thing that I need is your time. The only thing that I need is your attention. You do not need to be interested in what I have to say. Just give me your time.
:: 02.01.2021 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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