I am not my job.
That is just a service I provide.
My job is to be a myth.
To be a shadow leaping from corner to corner.
A gesture towards the correct course of actions.
I do not hide but I am hidden.
Born from mouths that call for answers.
Killed by hands that hold their faith firmly.
I am not my body.
That is just a vehicle stuck in drive.
My body is to be a confined quality.
To be a reminder all is finite.
An anchor stowed into existence.
Though I endure I am not preserved.
Felt by those who only want to feel.
Pushed form they who only serve themselves.
I am not my emotions.
They are just temporal flares of reaction.
My emotions are to be my nexus.
To be a bridge I can bring others across.
An opening of the heart to let in the truth.
Forming inside of a constant battle.
Dissipating once a side is chosen.
I am not my thoughts.
They are merely ruminations on my situation.
My thoughts are to be psalms that inspire peace.
To be tools that carve a beautiful theme.
A weapon to turn on those who rally against life.
Blossoming out of some grand nature.
Imprisoned by anti-social structures.
Hail the centrifugal force.
Binding these things together.
It has no name.
It needs no name.
Hail, hail the mystery!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem