It’s
more to busy this nature than to convey something irrefutable.
To
oppose such a nature is
to
oppose breath; for we fear it; this bundle of malaise; this
thunderous
depression. I’m off to sea searching to climb a net
for
havens, for a soothing nature. I trail a track to trample a tick
ever
terrified for troubled waters. I fall unable to touch pavement
thinking
of “we as one” to pull from mystics an energy bound in
love;
for
a book becomes a sluggish read, where a song morphed into a
state
of trances, only to grip for peace wafting upon a ledge. I’m
here
in part for a purpose to impart where a tea kettle reminds us
of
winter.
There’s
a sad cat clawing carpet ever to disappear in such
activity.
It’s at a peace that humans long for, ever content with
simplicity,
while ruining a perfect shade of gray. I’m up, for a bout
of
downs spinning through motion ever to pause to feel a cosmic ache.
There’s
a woman struggling with such riddle where movement is
heaviness,
even cold bones where warm blood floods a dungeon.
I
witness where malaise becomes a kiln a type of furnace
a
type of familiarity.
I’m
somewhere to watch a young lad wrestling through mudslides.
I’m
tumbling to trespass a neighbor’s bliss blemished with scars
filled
with tomorrow. It’s hell for cotton candy, heaven for
contrition,
ever a need for confession. Such is pain bottled up to
express
reality through a rolling countenance. Malaise for stress,
where
despair comes for moods, where both are interchangeable.
