Aloud
I spoke it unto glory.
I
feel it this realm, a hint of dread, featured in a frequency.
I
walk the pressure, an inner city child, to purchase a
rosary;
and more to love, an infant’s smile, coated in
spittle.
We need for it, a web of gems, gilted in love.
There’s
an organ, beneath a heart, to sound out symbols.
I’m
there, to feel it dissipate, as active as beavers; but
I
thought to rest, a palm of ills, a probing angst. It’s
more
a dream, for golden freedom, to exercise fables.
I’m
there, revved to write, staring at symbols. Have we
noticed,
a wealth of wants, the distrust of envy; but ever
to
live it, chipped in fragments, and unaware. We want
for
perfect, a keen disease, to deny self; and how to vet,
a
ladder deep, and stirring hells. It’s more than math, a
liquid
equation, piercing into souls. It’s a feeling raw,
to
type a database, to wait our turn. I love it in fey, where
vibes
are pretty, an unsaid river. I’m miles of light, to
rupture
music, as calm as tutors. We need for it, a vase of
flowers,
to picture a moment; else to perish, to float a
raft,
unaware of freedom; for such is life, a never to know,
two
ladders beneath heaven.
