Unravel
her soul, strata for strata, and witness art, and witness
tears.
Pass a remedy, a sky of love, a sagic wand. I see her in
tank
tops, denims and tennis shoes. There she is, typing a novel,
wiping
pain, lunged into a battlefield. It takes courage, to
overpower
hurt, chiseling an outcome. Such endeavor, a sober
journey,
feeling an influx. Flee not a complication, found, and
clawing
for success. I’m pitching flames, love, ever to watch a
storm.
Let not a day perish, where art wasn’t touched, a restless
night.
Launch a force, absorb a texture, and get lost in practice.
Indeed,
muse and be free, if only for a moment, grapple for
freedom.
Venture every crevice, a mind of ideas, but narrow it
down.
Tackle a beating heart, extract primal chi, piercing starry
waves.
This is life, untamed in our fervor, to cushion an impact.
Unbolt
and touch clouds, to wander vineyards, plucking plums.
Take
notes, and pull minds, exhaust a text. Review, fully
enamored,
enlove with creation. Purchase a trestle, and wax it
with
literature; and count symbol to symbol, to set a tone, where
Spirit
reigns supreme.
