Man with His Head Full of Clouds

I know the words by heart..

But i can't recognize the poem..

I can within everything in me reconstruct the alphabet that made the poem..

But i can't read the poem..

I can't paint the poem..

I can't sign the poem..

I can't vomit it, forget about it, unlearn it, write it down, talk about it, heal from it, endure it.

I can envision it, almost see it.. its happening right here right now, now & here..

But it only happens in the pulp of my eye..

I see it so vividly.. so vivdily

I can almost touch it.. smell it, experience it surface but nothing more, nothing happens .. the vision ends.. it ends.

I feel it in the depth of my guts, the agitating pain and agony..

The promise

The hope

The belief

The possibility

The dream

The imagination

The prayers

I can't forgive, though I have too.. I have too .. I have too I have to forgo.

The sentimental yearning for the impossible,

The intense desire for the unimaginable,

The longing for an alternate reality,

The affection without any limitations,

The soft gentle heart of yours,

The obligatory suffer, as long as we live.

My head is full, of white shaped void of space..

Somedays I'm floating others I'm suffocating.