He
lit a cigar, a tad bit manic, pursuing a fancy. The mind
was
ripples, but not for quicksand, clouded by medicine. A
thought
appeared, a young maiden, to wrestle habits. He
died
a soul, to ponder a friend, grieving existence. The
maiden
cried, all through mind, mourning identity. He tried,
for
tales, to climb for calm. The maiden, torn asunder, for
mourning
father, and mourning love, and mourning heart.
He
reached a palm, all in mind, and spoke a psalm. The
maiden
wailed, to bolt for strength, and disappeared.
He
lit a cigar, a tad bit sullen, pursuing mercy. The mind
was
sorrow, but not for death, to filter measures. A thought
appeared,
a young falcon, to wrestle truths. He cried a soul,
to
wander grass, and science pain. The falcon soared, and
dropped
a tear, to touch an eagle. He tried, for tales, to climb
for
calm. The falcon settled, and disappeared, melting into
mountains;
and eagles wailed, and rivers swooshed, staring
at
sediments. He paced a mind, of telic skies, surging
through
circuits; and pain surfaced, something new, a
probing thought.
