All
praises due! and Your insignia, Lord!
I’m
spent for sails, aloft an ocean, to wrestle Poseidon. I’m lost and found, adrift for clouds, to
rustle your smile. I never heard it,
to feel it deeply, a vest of passions; and god knew, for princess’ eyes, and
hazel mood-dreams. We never loved, to
know for love, a city of wilderness; for this is life, to channel forever, to
feel departures. I’m barely here, a
landmark fallin’, as grim as gothic; for tears are down, to touch for carpet, a
squirrel for dins. We chase and
dance, to wonder of chi, to hit for hearts.
I know for you, a silent rhythm, to infuse a heart; and this is love—to never
see—a fleeing vehicle; and corner to corner, to barely see, a woman for terror;
and still to chase—a locomotive, fallin’ for rising. I wish for goods, a day for twelve, as
alive as penguins; in which are tears, and haven smiles, to see a human. I barely could, a vault of dreams, to see
addiction; where god knew, for faint returns, to plummet mother; and more to
mourn, to see her crying, alive and dead.
Where was it; this thing of love; for a broken woman? I scream to feel it, a park of
dolphins—alive a fantasy; and mother died, to fend for bills, as cold as icicles. I remember rain and pain and constant
scrapes—to see for callous and stoned, a wealth of liquor. We perish so gravely, to rise in pictures,
a woman as a cyclone; for hell was near—a need to challenge and die the same;
where death is growth, a seed of feelings, as beige as, I love you. I type to see
it, a force of fathers, gathered at the creeks; and more to flight, to love a
ghost, as here as nowhere. I love
it—this life, as bold as prophecy; in which for troubles, a vest of woes, unless
for accuracy; whereby the nights, a silent prayer, a noetic wave; for this is
life, to feel for thoughts, aloft a labyrinth.
