From Scratch

By Alexandria Somirs 

Once a little girl

envisioned the world to be

of finely sketched curls.

She had a book,

a picture book,

of what it was

she did not know

Her soul of birth?

her soul of earth?

Of which it was

or is to be

did not matter one single bit,

for this special girl,

took to the hills

as far as she could.

took to the fields,

as far as she could.

took to the water,

as far as she could.


Until one noiseless day,

in a deep, dark cave

she wept and wept,

tears of despair – that they were not,

but tears of joy – that lept

to her face

and sank to her feet,

for when she sang,

the echos did speak,

or rather kissed the songs

to her wet cheek.


Night after night,

did her heart long sing

with its roar so mighty,

And day by day,

her soul came to light.

For only when she sang from scratch

did her soul begin to patch,

all misery and sorrow,

all despair and horror,

in a hymn of labyrinths,

and in silk-crossed webs.


The girl went back,

but not alone,

with her, her friend

silence and song

both in one,

one long boat,

for she sailed the seas,

where meaning is noiseless

where souls are cordless.

Photo by Alexandria Somirs


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