An Analysis of My Return

Surreal bubbles floating up to the sky.              
I can't breath. That was my ultimate suspire.              
Only the land of dreams is left for me now.              
Only the Great Beyond. I drowned in the ocean.              
             
The blood of thousands of Syrian children floods my soul.              
My skin is open, and the cries come in, and tears flow through my semipermeable flesh.              
God, you are right there above me. Take me home.              
Earth is too painful. The people are panicking.              
Eyes, close and release the inner spirit              
that can fly to the Lord of the mountains.              
Humanity of my own disgusting body, dissipate yourself over the soil and let the flowers grow.              
You are of use to no one.              
             
No, I must live. Give me food.              
Cakes and tarts pass through my skin and collect in my frame,              
and I release only feculence.              
I believe that I am getting fat,              
and I am ashamed of my filth.              
Starve me. Let me die.              
Tell me all of your bad news.              
Let me taste your distress within my rotting heart.              
             
Poverty is not a perception of the mind              
in those places where people aren't privileged enough              
to test contentment between material possessions and perspectives.              
It is the same with any crises, any panics, any worries.              
From the outside, we only see agitation,              
but clips are flashing in their minds              
that they can't control              
that are their memories              
and fears,              
and new scenes are flashing before their eyes,              
so their pain is more than we can recognize              
always              
always.              
             
Gouge out my vision, and let me practice clairvoyance.              
I bet              
that somewhere across the dust someone is suffering.              
I bet              
that somewhere right in this city              
someone is struggling for his life,              
and a "she" is dead              
though I don't know who this "she" is.              
             
Wait, don't gouge out my eyes; I am afraid of losing them.              
Don't let me starve; it gives me anxiety              
just thinking about being emaciated              
because I wince at pictures when I learn what it looks like.              
African babies forced into asceticism,              
and though they do not learn an Eightfold Path,              
they see God way before the rest of us.              
I don't want...              
I don't want to be like them              
and die              
so quickly without even pressing against pink rose lips and practicing nature's true aesthetic              
which is romance.              
Yet, now, the tides have turn.              
The wave that I thought was going to hit them              
has now turned back on me.              
             
Jesus walks before me and commands the high tsunami to calm back to the sea,              
and he leaves me and the poor person to stare at each other for a moment's ease.              
A rainbow must have appeared behind me and a pretty bird with gorgeous tropical feathers              
(for this is what always happens, and I usually take that lust within me),              
but a bowl of rice appears in my soft infant hands, and I run to the hungry man.              
             
Human flesh, return to me now.              
Sky full of bubbles, don't let me drown              
in the blood that is my blood as well.              
Tears, make new streams, and we'll separate the salt,              
and someone in the desert will drink the water,        
and someone else will have seasoning for food.              
The panic is flowing through me. I am breathing hard. I am panicking.              
"Hey, he's having hallucinations,"              
I understand the hurting words of my brother.              
The way of life is so disoriented              
and checkered with death.              
When can I be happy              
if whenever I am happy someone else is sad?              
             
"Close the doors of your ears and know nothing.              
Be nothing."              
But, my friend, I cannot yet escape.              
Soul, the mountain is not yet your home.              
Life only has meaning if you do something              
with whatever you were given in life.              
The world and your body exchange tools and inspiration for action,              
and the action carries love which is a force within you              
and beauty that is intrinsic to you that is not changed with time and that is not less or more than anyone else's.              
You unlock that beauty to the world with a genuine smile              
that shows that joy is something within that cannot be destroyed by the news that comes.              
Now with that strength that is joy, use your humanity.              
Though light shows scary things, the light is still light, so see.              
             
I don't want to get fat, and I don't want to get skinny, so I won't live or die for material possession's sake.              
I can't disappear until my death (oh how I had always wanted to disappear)              
because as long as I am alive, this world needs me.              
What is the purpose of life?              
To learn how to live and help others live.              
I feel alive. I feel human. I feel hurt and pain.              
I feel intrinsic joy. I allow myself a moderate amount of happiness from the gifts that I have been given.              
Here are three giant weights of fine gold bearing on my shoulders and my head,              
and my body is sinking lower into the soft dirt that is always accepting              
because I know that if I love others as myself, I will die with honor,              
and that if I live unto God,              
I won't struggle anymore one lamb at a time.              
The pasture will finally be full              
and the heaven rewarding.              
             
Give your life away to others, and dance, dance              
because in the hands of the loving less fortunate you have no worries.