You
witness so gently, somewhat distant, but vocal in
private.
There’s such color, revolving scruples, settled
in
quietude; but tear a storm, clever for wise, a young
swan.
I hear it closely, a rapture of thoughts, moving you
towards
wisdom. Lights are prismatic, even opalescent,
an
uneven texture; for such for bleak, a tint of woes,
sprinkled
with joy. I pause to wander, afflux an abstract,
scribbling
with a crayon. You’re more for growth,
drizzling
prose, nestled in dreams; for things are gray,
but
filled with color, a system of what for
rights? Place it
on
a mantelpiece, a list of ethics, even a glass swan; but
more
for sturdy, a lion’s chest, an eagle’s wings. It’s
more
a six-sense, coupled with intuition, founded
through
souls; so what for facts, a pavement thick, where
all
are held captive. You want for stars, a probing motive,
featured
in humility; but strut for strength, a sheer appeal,
a
calming delight; where rain peeks, a reputed source,
ever
to mold printed cultures.
