I must remember steeped in sickness for
sore
realities striking against sad
sculptures.
It was mazes, bleeding fevers, as manic
as
generators. I must forgive a sullen
gesture to
stir disturbance within; and I must
receive one
reaching for solace. I reckon a star,
falling to
breathe, alive somewhere sacred; and
daughters grin, to soar through souls,
peering
into Rihanna; and more a self,
connected to
lyrics, growing through melody. I
promise to
love, to culture stems, and seven
levels high. We
pardon spaces, to see for roots, afraid
to chastise;
but often a storm, to sprinkle so
gently, the
deepest abyss. I came to life,
unforgotten,
driven for slaughtered souls; and there
was God,
pushing for pulling, to extract faith.
This is life,
a nib to soul, heavy with forests; and
what for
love, a twinge of graves, to thirst an inner
voice.