I
walked in, somewhat distorted, to witness Life. It was un-
covered,
a tender silence, sipping tea. I picked a padlock,
to
traipse a brain, something was glaring. “Give me a name”;
for
something was needed, a soul was printed. More for
something
grey, a spoken provision, to silence chatter. I
walked
a dungeon, to become a falcon, kneading shrapnel.
“Is
this your name”; for vibration is heavy, but often elusive.
I
repeat to feel, to slant a focus, to feel for pressure; and
must
escape, a mirrored castle, slipping into a mantra; where
souls
are printed, to wrestle Life, to sort through motifs.
They
reoccur, through spirit-chi, as haunting as a tarot
reading;
for there’s a soul, with damning ink, reaching for
souls.
I cringe, to sight an omen, crawling through psychic
graves.
More for something grey, a hidden provision, to
silence
chatter; for what is a name, but tunnels of chi, a pearl
for
a mental ghost. I’ve stated darkness, to grapple with Life,
to
rev such fervor; for souls at peace, to fathom Life, asearch
for
a roadmap.
