I
figure pressure, to lack a caveat, where anger simmers.
Push him, to induce it, a wealth of
fireballs.
Call him violent. Prick to find it.
Never retreat!
But I’m a soul, fraught with love.
I’m rich in
nectar, optimistic, and a tad bit
negative. I see a
human, spinning woes, veiled in a
title. We
mingle like thieves, friendly to a
point, until the
right heist.
I
fall, to pressure a keystone, found in Bhakti.
I clear it out
in
rivers, to strike a memory, to feel a windfall. Is it
thunderbolts,
a daydream star, lost in resilience? It’s a
conclave,
to peer inwardly, to find Namaste. Am
I to speak;
from
point to point; to explain the obvious? How often?—
maybe
weekly, if not monthly, to force it open. Is this the
vest
approach?—even a kernel, or better a landmark?
Is it one on one, stiffly aware, a
mallet for a fist? I
ask mirrors, to ponder wickedly, where
emotion
clouds
the weather. He’s smart, but not enough.
He’s
bright, but darkened. He’s resilient, but how
far?
I fall into darkness, a willing breath, to hear
for
silence. I imbue a force, to capture essence, to
feel
her blessing. It’s more for growth, a silent
field.
We rain a burdened heart, to inhale a small
success.
I laugh, somewhere gone, to know her ways.
Is
it illusion, to believe it’s not personal? I’m dusky, ever
flung,
to read it as acidic. This is pain, a need to ponder, to
repaint
portraits. I feel it, African hopes, for violet stars.
A
jar is filled, with the richest jam, plus, aqua dreams. I’m
eating
toast, to reckon a gambit, sipping coffee. It’s a
brimming
psyche, fleeing a forest, where trees follow closely.
Its
religion, marooned dearly, to flood a vessel. Its heartache,
and
French wine carpet, to flap for wings. Plus, it’s me, a
mantic
wind, to manage something a breath.
