I
think of you, tried by injustice, to wonder of wisdom eyes. I’m blazing Avril, torn
to rise, piecing together a thought, somewhat concerned. You may laugh, to
fathom facts, staring at hypocrisy. I have much to fend for, honest in my shame,
a step shy of embarrassment. You
speak
youth, to kiss a love, to share a sandwich. I smile to feel you, a bit alert,
striking towards a
future.
Life is too a miracle, as opposed to mere friction. We long in our absence,
searching to find ourselves, found in a world of projects. It was frightening,
something esoteric, where peace soared within. Indeed, initially a shock,
followed with fear, to render a deep calm. I’ll leave unsaid a magnitude, where
you may blink in wonderment, slipping into a gray thought.
Nevertheless,
a sun is brilliant, raining upon daisies, while melting sap. A night is
gracious, to feel presence, a cave somewhere deep a soul. There you stand,
feeding pigeons, while drawing flowers, a mile into a psyche. I try to gaze,
unaware of measures, chasing squirrels. It’s thetic in design, every moment a
poem, where meter takes precedence. Tone, too, is a miracle, a posy of
syllables,
where pneuma winnows a soul, an opus, akin to Zion. Our hearts, an unyielding
weft, weaved into our minds, to melt into a trestle. I should say it often,
this thing of life, where anguish might ensue; but know it’s true, this thing
of life.
