There’s
warfare waves wafting through a jungle of souls a
need
to retreat into a cocoon of love. I saw it written where
a
saint cried for mercy to channel for God. She died a love
colored
in holiness to rise into a fortress of warfare; but
such
comfort to extract for answers a wealth for suffering.
I
speak a background drizzled in paradox to crawl on
high
for a sensation evident in personality. We want for a
kaleidoscope
to examine for properties to vet for proofs
in
a mirror. If we sit to fly to return filled with tears, what
must
I give? I love—becomes a vehicle to simmer in both
joys
and pains. It’s not for pain that I disbelieve; and it’s
not
for joy that I believe. It’s for a manifestation grounded
in
reconstruction, faced with miracles, a spoken language
through
disposition. Stems are soaring within psyches to
electrify
forces moving through ghostly portals. So forgive
to
be free where love is bound in love even chained to
love
and unfettered by love. I touch for heart for heart to
live
through touch. It’s ever our love as free as kindness.
