How
to function, fully crooked, a forward insight? We
fell
to gravel, knees scraped, cuffed and grieving; and
what
for Malcolm, to read for books, a faith for fevers.
Oh
for sadness, and future lives, a dreamy eyed mystic;
and
oh behold, a monarch of swans, to morph a nation.
Its
claret art, and lurid visions, to paint a fortress. I
puzzle
pages, deeply slain, chained to a value. We hold
it
dearly, to portrait life, a wealth of wretched woes. I
saw
it cherish, an olden man, to perish reborn. It’s
deep
a hymn, to chant for Aum, a tad bit flippant; for
life
is rain, and rain is joy, to feel a bit free. I knew it
love,
to hear a kiss, to grip a palm; and mother lived, a
sullen
pearl, hurling from liquor. We took a tress, and
turquoise
diamonds, to root a soul. I love it like bliss,
a
moment captured, smelling a nomad breeze; but ever
torn,
a yellow cab, packed with pain; and deep the
blackness,
despite the rain, a need for balance. We feature
footlights,
the rawest grains, a bit for shortsighted. It
may inflect, a deep
mirage, chipping at a tomb.
