Sometimes I dream that I can fly
all by myself in my own sky,
I do,
and I see what I’ve never guessed,
what bounds and crowns never expressed,
nor sounds or colours, any notions,
for all is there made of emotions.
Sometimes I dream that fly I can,
a flying saucer, a frying pan,
a shoe,
so light that I can even pass
faster than anything on grass,
through ages gone, the coming season,
oceans of stone and seas of reason.
Sometimes I dream that I will fly,
above those that did never try,
that flew,
and keep spoiling silence with noise
where only thunder shall have voice,
and cannot see how much is great
this Universe late side and state.
Sometimes I dream that I did fly,
not needing wings, just floating by,
and through,
my empty room from side to side,
lost narrow streets and passions wide,
sometimes I dream, others I fly,
and many times I simply lie.
Maybe it happens I really flew,
within realities unknown,
not new,
there, where only the soul can go,
feel winds of light and burning snow,
and after much wonder and jest,
find a body, vacant, to rest.
