I
heard for rivers, to rake for this life, to gather for leaves. I spoke for
delicate,
to
sharpen senses, to move towards aggressive; indeed, to find for consciousness;
and
dams broke, in place of fiberglass, a voice through a soul. We pamper
listless,
to give for liquor, a shattered vest; and rough to ride, a healing dream,
filled
with tomorrow. Maybe in fairness, we harp the strong, and coddle the infant;
for
such is essence, to yearn for kindness, where firmness beckons. I’m soon to
drift,
to envision mother, as aggressive as wolves, as keen as motives. I fall
further,
a picture of father, an intimate stranger; and must we witness, the oldest
con,
where a son was born? How for silence; and how for love; and must it is; and
must
it was! I write to structure, a
sightless wave, where such is nuance.
Its seed for seed,
to
nurture roots, to sew infinity; and mother cried, the midst of rants, pushing
for brilliance;
and
daughter’s watch, a wealth of wills, welcomed with woes. I sigh a fever, to plead to
grit,
affected in gray areas; for life is pain, to conjure for joy, a torn paradox;
where a
woman
spoke, to ask the abstract, a reality deep; and God came, to push a fortress,
where
shojis
fell, and a mirror appeared to itself.
I remember this rain, the shame of fighting back,
speaking
to a vacuum. I sip to find it, a
moment in a session, where lines blurred—
for
sighted evidence. We spoke it not,
for much to fear, to see it once; and different
I
was, to soar through mystics, even teachers.
It’s now for memory, and grandma’s
pain, to harness a
kingdom; and yes for God, a midnight trance, a body for mourning!
