It’s
rarely simple, love; ever to pitch a voice, to sculpt a legacy.
We
waltz upon stages, to garnish life, lost for methods; but
long
to live, to vet a theory, tears cupped in palms. It’s more
for
purpose, where trials of flesh, permeate a future. A world
is
breathing, to seek your breath, found in analysis. Want for
more,
refusing death, in all its shades. Want for brilliance,
the
highest region, to render provisions. Life is a secret,
turned
by dos and don’ts, to portrait heaps of humility; for
this
is love, a heart for calmness, to reign in fairness. So mold
a
season, to measure for treasure, a campaign for love. Create a
technique,
to feature a voice, give through blood and bone; and
perish
not, a mind of violence, where others see a glassmaker.
Indeed,
of greater importance, a soul at peace, a moving career.
Give
occasion for charity, to volunteer, with a group of friends.
Build,
and be built, to fashion a railway, with love to guide.
It’s
often speechless, this mystery, channeled through silence; but
feature
talents, a league of executives, growing into a whirlwind.
This,
too, is life, a system of doubts, a studio of arts.
