To
give thought: the treachery against self, as prevalent as mirrors. We
confuse—and distort our very faces, pointing at galaxies. I felt for journeys,
for a gladsome lot, as deep as sadness. The music carried, to bury a soul, and
now for repeats. I can’t for tears, to carry a tunnel, to walk—run—and—sprint.
We knew complexity, to outwit a mirror, and ever in character. We died alone,
and smiled in crowds, partly neurotic. It caught attention: to stare blankly,
to harvest grime, to sickle weeds. We threshed for guile, ever to see it, to
smile at mirrors. It was felt amusing: to witness folly; to gauge a greeting.
We turned a corner: to watch it spin; to die in private. Love was a mystery: to
know this word, to visit rarely; and still for lies; and still for anger—if one
caught sight. The passion—for quite amazing, to invest such energy. The soul
would stumble, to hear for laughter, to find it repulsive; where thoughts
haunt, to forge images, to ponder consequence. It never leaves: a churning of
winds; an echo of terror; where a mind speaks to itself. I couldn’t but see: a
lot for death; the landscape of eyes. Oh for essence, as green as terror, as
green as newborns. It’s a damning caption; where love is distance, despite the
minutia. Some live unvisited, to
unhand self, where the inner chamber suffers. I fault not a soul, entangled fully,
chasing engrams. They surface at random; to reason through darkness; where good
rests quietly. I ponder love, the deepest union, to feel for presence. Its deep
the mind, where heart is real, a floating dimension; where pain is art, and art
is life, and grandma knows: to sit in gentleness; to stir a ritual, by asking
for help. Oh to think back, to visit a memory, to know for goodness; and still
the friction, to wrestle forces—stationed in high places; whereat is power, a
deep paradox, to read through proverbs.
I love it more, an icy orientation, camouflaged in suits and ties. We perish so greatly, fully aflame, to
participate—smiling. I’m falling this
place, to dig for escape, to see multiple curses; for the exit of one—raises
for another, where one may return.
It’s the deepest secret, to exercise dearly, to guard the vest-cave;
where forces leap, ever to reside, unless a fever—even assistance.
