She
was told for rivers, to learn of two monks, for letting
go.
I cried her groans, mourning to perish, for oaken wounds.
A
child spoke tears, nurtured sorely, aware of chaos. I died
my
oath, to seek out nuns, to plead revival. The night stood
silent,
for Frisbee years, crooning a nightmare. A woman
spoke
of Jesus, to scold a harlot, two days in for faith. I
walked
southbound, to trek a maze, grazing on sorrow. How
for
reconnect, a somber song, a honeymoon of rites. We
sang
a symphony, a touch of liturgy, to fusion fire. I wrote
for
fever, to render a rainbow, to generate cycles. The days
were
candy, a plate of diamonds, to rest for stamina. She
died
for Christmas, a New Year’s drug, dripping in baptism.
He
gave for name, a legacy sore, chipping at cinemas. The
world
has spoken, the bleakest features, searching for a
liquor
store. Where ever close, to church and wine, mocking
preachers.
She bathed in blood, to capture vision, a husband
screaming
fears. We watch it driven, ever to live it, at
unawares.
I craved a movie, a sink of glitter, to perish twice.
There’s
more abroad, for less near home, to suffer deaths.
