The Vernacular Of The Soul Poem by Hebert Logerie

Semiotics doesn't really have an accent
It's the rustle of the wind, the sound of time
It's the lyricism in the hearts of countless women
And the musicality in the depths of the soul.

I use no specific languages to express myself
When I see you, my love. It's the extreme velocity
Of the blood flowing through my arteries and my veins
Harmoniously and tenderly with a sweet pain.

My soul is an ordinary peasant and a foreign polyglot
Who express themselves with cloistered eyes and muted lips
The emotions and the warmth of the bewitched and befuddled heart.

It's the body that moves naturally
Without making enormous efforts and movements
These are the thrills of the impassioned soul.

Copyright © July 2020, Hebert Logerie, all rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several volumes of poetry.