I
can’t describe it, to live freely, a foreign concept; and more to flinch, to
mince
words,
to argue reasons. Oh to fall, and raise your heart, filled with grit. Something
lives,
a secret concept, to fill this burn. I loved you sickly, to love you warmly,
a
carriage of throes; and mother died, to see for smiles, a bit confused; and
more
the
tears, to churn love, a forgiving thought. So dig deeply, to pause the
introjects,
flooded
with woes. I need a drink, to hear your voice, for death is forbidden. The
earth
is swept, and there you stand, a wounded vessel; and fall the clouds, to
palm
the sleep, even awakened. We perish thrice, amidst destruction, filled with
pearls;
and love is dark, the fleets of light, and buried in gold. Please forgive, a
drifting
soul, fraught with hoists. You spoke in earnest, to challenge fate, spent
with
confusion. I see for eyebrows, a need for clipping, and hidden toe nails.
Indeed—for
laughs, to harness shame, a bit polarized; and father fled, without
return,
a vest outworn. Was it pain, an addict’s gaze, an inner child—traumatized
fully?
I ask—to help a soul, dying in degrees; but ever this life, to soar the aches,
to
kayak rivers; and more the love, to know for weather, a storm in the far east.
We
perish in grays, to ask for love, from dying parents; and God heard, to cleanse
a
slate, where death spoke violence. The essence burns, to turn events, to love
for
mother; and father cared, to carry demons, screaming in lonely rooms. So more
for
self, to die for self, to morph into a human.
