Something
for a gesture, to render for uneasiness! To turn
at
a given moment, to elicit discomfort. We give less for
challenge,
to mull through anguish: a type of insight, to
bear
witness. What for motive, but a state for healed, as
ambitious
as Africa. We pose for strangers, to live through
emotions.
They see for mirrors, a deliberate
yawn,
compelled
by theories; but what for brilliance, to know
for
self, aware for disposition? They speak it socially;
where
an undertone is chaos. There’s swelling pride,
entangled
in self, a cavern of speculation. He found for
reasons;
where she sculpts for purpose, concerned of a
cultic
trait. To witness tranquility, a need
to shift, to
disrupt
alarming calm. He sees it as acquired. She sees it
as
too steady. The two are want to exchange. To enter
dispositions,
as alert as cheetahs, to withdraw a fact: It is
less
trespass, for more a vehicle, through which a dynasty
is
embodied. She swarms a desert, through gusty planes,
steady
enough for unsteady.
A citadel has shattered, where
succor is self, unless
a plea. They shift for waves, a
sword of strife, wrapped
through introspection. What for
likeness, a stranger’s
guide,
aware to structure distance. Its mental ingest,
a
thought's caress, a portfolio of dreams.
