Thoughts
are sailing, a dozen portals, streaming
through
soot
and smaze. Such a fog shrouds a
countenance.
We
probe
for a purpose, even at unawares. To love is
a
vow,
a
lover’s oath, sorting through junk and jeers.
There’s
something
to twilight, infused with darkness, and
passion-night
affections. I dare us to cry,
free
of want,
desiring
perfection. This
comes
as myth, staring at futures,
riddled
with evanescence. I, too, am guilty; to
ponder
wealth,
and muse upon beauty. But mantic rites,
move
a
nerve,
despite its authenticity. I smile to
witness
smiles;
but
often I can’t smile, to the detriment of smiles.
I,
too,
am
guilty; to venture love, in a troubled sphere.
It’s
deeply
upright, in a down-light world, drifting
through
cycles.
Some
see
it not, ever to shake hands, lost for
reason;
but charm a nightmare,
and
live a nightmare.
