Please No, Jean Paul

I want to turn your head
Towards my potentialities of feeling.
I whisper in the dark: My actions are not the self. I am More.
The haze of the past, pieced by the indistinguishable extinguishment
Of anguish, hope, fear, desire in every movement, cannot find me.
I cry: What of when I roiled in the dark sea of thought,
And emerged in an instant, clear and shining?
What of when I spat out an instant because I could not freeze?
What of action, complexity forever distilled? Of hopes and narrative
Departed, to be the soul and judge? What of it?
I am More!
I reach a hand into my heart, plunge into swollen coexistence,
Survey my surroundings with realizations immense,
Enthralls of Completeness choke out rasps of Life.
I glance at Heaven:
There languishes a dove, tipping his wings
Into a blinding pool of scarlet, feathers melting
Away from Time.