I
embarked upon a sober trail mingling with academia
while
molding into a distant yearning. It’s blue and
burgundy
and red for darks spinning a concept for love.
I
was there to create, longing for inflection where a
soothing
voice enchanted a wounded soul, as so to pull
backwards
offended for manipulation. What is this trail?
—to
exit a vacuum where pressure looms to ever enter
into
a world of sensations gilted in motives to chime
with
sphinxes to dress for dreams barely able to kiss. I
speak
of danger to channel reflection where two are alike
and
one is self. I guard a mirror a public mirror to see
for
lights blinking our names to fish in esoteric rills
where
fear rises a moment stippled in psyches. I wrote
of
love a stranded love to flex for love; and stars
deigned
for souls to spark where webs grew through
shards
ever to severe invisible bones. It’s more an
ensample
for swans where many are adults to feel
warmth
for a poet. It’s remiss to omit a shadowing need
to
bond with innocence despite a life to jade
expectations.
I saw for love to quilt a wound where
mind
was oblivious to an inner struggle. We were sighted
for
riches fully apart afraid to peek into dark rooms. I’m
still
ascending to ever let go and feel for an entity
outside
of qualifications. This is love for ideals to
soar
beyond stations to attain to a height flooded with
compassion.
It’s less for notion and more for soul to
puff
a square and drift with smoke peering into a sculpted
life where love
resides as chief.
