A Prophecy of Myself

To fly, my soul, like wind returning home—
what home will welcome me, my soul, in peace?
To wander like the clouds, one cloud, alone,
I fly in lonely dreams of sweet release.
To breathe the wind, myself, return to light,
the lightness of existence; I am free.
These dreams and visions circumscribe my sight
with winds of life, my soul; I am to be.
Stripped down beyond the bones of thought, despair,
my soul relieves lucidity of pain,
immerses into currents of pure air
where such immersion suffers me again.
Again I feel subsumed by gentle sighs;
again my soul of aspiration flies.

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