How
have we done this? ever to thirst sorrow, this feeling!
I’m
close to breath, even a friend, pulling and tugging
souls.
It’s more today, to graze tomorrow, to wipe a tear.
Its
core for peace, to touch a petal, knees filled with grout.
We
slake a moment, to wrench a soul, attuned with hunger.
I
redeem for love, a chiseled mind, trekking softly.
More
a light, to rise a ghost, ever in stillness; for we flit
—for
motion,
filled with thunder.
My
grayest hopes, as sturdy as steel, for scents of fey.
Thoughts
afoul, render flame, to traipse a fog. I hear it less,
to
rinse a soul, to face a dungeon. Is it time, to rupture a
cloud,
to grip for souls?
Every
twinge—a needle, a psychic wound, sketching through
a
valley.
I waft in stillness, to flee a log,
a turned enchant;
for
wires cross, to merge with light, a trickling fount; but more
a
torch, a kiln for souls, a verdant
glen.
It’s
ever a scar, to form
a
fortress, love for rain—and rain for love. I sit a den, to muse
a
lion, ever a wick of faith. How have we done this? to
mourn
tomorrow!
