What
for love, a legend to a mind, to drill—for that feeling! I died a seed,
to
form for seeds, a mythical butterfly. Oh for lies, to harness gold, four
miles
flown. We unravel—a sight for yarn, knitted into a stencil. We
yearned
it,
to crochet it, a three year life. We flew like wings, to grip for gavels, to
die
unforgiven…where such was sought, to feel for peace…and deny my
soul.
It’s a sullen laugh, to outwit wit, as mature as death. I cried a
name,
to
fill with fusion, as cozy as a riddle…for every vessel…a barge of rain…
to
trickle into soils. We perish for cordial, to hold contempt, unless for
troubles.
I vanished, somewhere a mind, peering at perceptions. Oh for
mercy
this pain, to drift where demons failed…
and
long this life, as earnest as cuffs, to grip a cliff. We tint in platitudes,
as
rough as deserts, to smile come surprise! It’s fervid a dream, to claw
like
panthers, to whiff and run. We cry a vacuum, as rich as ink-pens, to
shift
through trauma. Oh for roots, the first for sight,
to
bend a tiny thumb. It’s more the years, to fret an outcome, speeding
through
memories…and
mother knew…where father vamped…a sight for cages.
