I’m
holding beads, to rub for texture,
whole
for but a moment.
I
feel you less, to flood for good times,
and
rev through souls.
I
figure your life, a journey for solace,
for
minds to shiver.
Such
is gray, to wrestle twins, where
spoken
for silence. Its
grandiose,
to feed a furnace, where no
is
fluid. Else, a tornado,
a
voice for harm, where she utters, “I never
knew you.”
I’m
found for lost, and lost for found, waving sage. You knew
of
life, to harness facts, scribbling conscience. I floated, torn
asunder,
molded within. I need not, but ever a
need, so teach!
There
are rivers, even a Jordan, to receive a dove. What for
thoughts,
to float a kite, ever alone. We take notes, to channel
sanity,
to touch for basis. I’m holding beads, a deep conviction,
a
manifest experience.
It
was hell to see, floored to hell,
grieving
hell;
but such were lights, to flicker
bravely,
to
nestle a young
seed.
I was planted, where weeds
grew,
to
wait
a whole season.
Such
to thresh, even sickle to root, a
war
for sanity.
I’m
holding
beads,
to scream for facts, praising
cultures.
It’s ever for
gray,
an abstract voice, to drill
a
soul.
