Have
you seen me: distorted deeply, as sane as infant cougars?
Something
for suns, through childhood scars, a torn adult. The
winds
are chilly, for foolish acts, to lose but life. There’s an
ache,
a harpooned heart, chanting: Forgiveness;
where walls
are
crashing, a salute to Berlin, to usher quixotic thoughts; but
rivers
rage, against Buddhists’ minds, to perish a swan; to
which
we swim, drenched through deserts, mourning fathers;
to
which we perish, a slate so filthy: thorns, briers, scars.
What
to give, an aching soul, slanted towards hatred? We start
with
self, a grand illumination, to emit sunlight rays; whereto
a
contagion, if hopes be blessed, to test angst’ reflection; for
words
are bending, to feature emotions, dying where she smiles.
Oh
for princess, churning through wires, for gripping rage.
Hold
not for poison, but rather joys, a wrist of diamonds; for
pain
for crucial, to inflame chaos, staring at a stranger; for long
lives
liquor, a distorted image, afraid for sober. The years hath
blighted
souls, fallin’ through mirrors, inflamed come mindstuff.
We
filter for wild, an eye for an eye, but destined to live. The
theaters
filled, with likeness of trauma, to watch our lives.
There’s
for travesty, a tragic tale, where swans string violins; to
which
a world, too set aflame, to churn a vague feeling; but
know
for bars, where perfect died, to opt for humanity.
