It
breathes, a familiar air, to carve a personality. I try to retreat,
lost
for words, anxious in motion. It seldom speaks, aside for
sensations,
a silent rhetoric. I’m deeply needled, to encounter
a
dream, to clasp a promise. Days are riddled, to totter a
fence,
to reach for something that shimmers. I wrestle attitude,
asearch
for triumph, a moment to rejoice; but this is false, for it
lives,
to glisten in unreality. How to shape it, found in
confusion,
to strew a rotten seed? I ignore a mirror, to probe a
mirror,
a banquet of illusions. Segments bring pleasure, where
joy
is false, ripe for a head-storm. It’s more a parable, to yearn
a
pedestal, privy to us all. What is this building, a garb of
delusions,
angry at silence? With all to give, a cryptic style, to
give
but little, where all is given; for something glimmers, a
must
to toil, as florid as visions. Indeed a battle, move for move,
to
swim a mirage. It’s a mental fossil, a debated maze, to vie for
power.
Ever nameless, a vest of personality, pushing through
facial
features. I pace a hearth, to search a mind, thankful for grace.
