For it is in your world not the external
that analysis of the deep takes place
bereavement and snipping corners
the divine plays with the defeated
soldiers marching through your field of poppies.
Self-analysis played out in the nineteenth hundred’s
a reason for psychoanalytic behavior
a collage of stories sits beneath your bones
stitched together by finer threads only visible
to the eyes of the attuned.
Here you sit in your chair of knowledge soaking
the leftovers and experiences of the day,
everything that shaped you resides and moves inside
for it is not stagnant it flows through you adding calcium to the bones
slight tricks of the body to remember in the mind,
where you came from what you do who you really are,
personas that you became oh how many you have become,
it is these that dissipate in the morning sun
also when you pass away everything dissolves and you are left
with nothing but the flesh your editing of life has flown away,
you merge into the sky the body is no longer hungry
but your soul, your soul is primed for the adventure ahead
analysis in the ether does not exists
but you may become one in the kingdom.
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