To
love you is freely born. To keep you is surely won.
I
grapple with such thoughts, featured in madness,
pitching
seeds to pigeons. Trees have ever spoken so
loudly,
where
leaves freely flow. I’m seed to seed, searching
not,
but
ever conscious to search. It’s such a riddle, where
patients
gathers, a network of thoughts. To search not
remaining
open is to search when rhythm calls. I’m
up
and low, fiddling an inkwell, storing a cabinet of
papyrus.
I figure to immortalize a fragment of self.
What
has come was preordained, a voluble affliction,
both
blessing and curse. Design us through fables,
where
we grow into giants, transforming pain into
energy.
There’s so many features, and secret rites, a
myriad
of secret societies.
To
be seen is to be felt, often unseen, touching a myriad
of
souls. I asked for light, receiving love, found in
steepness,
and bound to love. It’s true design, to motion
cosmic,
unlatched and secure. A missile projects long
distance,
ever to reach, impact, and probe a heart. It’s
solar
in dynamic, a heavy missile, both for good and bad.
