It
creeps within, to dialogue ghosts, a flicker of flame. I
run,
forever to circle, trekking tracks, and pitching rocks.
How
to live, ever to perish, to tremble with chills?
Something
breathes, ever alive, a soundless song. I see
a
fen, to mock a soul, spinning in waves. To dream, I dig,
to
till an earth; and there afar, a light for struggle. It
tussles
heart, to plant a seed, grieving both left and right.
A
star cringes, to witness scars, ever to compound woes.
It’s
more to vision, a peaceful pond, feeding geese. I grip
for
soul, an act for mind, to nurture a rising prayer; and
more
to fall, a bleeding bulb, raised on heartaches; and
there
it creeps, a valve of stealth, probing every memory.
I
search for thoughts, to color rain, staring at a journal.
It’s
torn for heart, the starch of pain, to trickle a reservoir.
More
to fly, to dance in mud, weaving feathers to a tear.
I’m
art for peace, to shatter walls, ever to kayak sorrows.
What
to live, to die for life, bouncing through turmoil.
So
less for joy, a haunted heart, to wrestle over scars.
