We
die to get it, this marvelous insight, nearly dead; but oh to rise,
shifting
through mirrors, to see it on both sides. I give her love, and
never
to see her, to love for music; for something knows, a glint of
light,
as frightened as sheep; and more to faith, a loss for feelings,
and
often flat. It nudged me at 4 a.m., to drift through shadows, our
lives
in Wayne’s hands. I push it more, to see a psych, a bit distorted;
and
oh so clear, to see us dying, enlove with fractions; and every equation,
the
words of Augustine, shoving us forward. I’m there, Love;
balling
in tears, to capture a breakthrough; for more is life, to type
and
move, to filter, Traci; and God knew, to shatter mirrors, where
hell
pursued. The mystic’s heart, to flee deception, to see it coming;
and
still for death, to climb it daily, and at times stagnant; but more to
ghosts,
the deepest craving, a pen for motion. I hear you, Tracey, a
vat
for souls, the deepest eyes; and heaven swarms, a servant’s chant,
to
consecrate diamonds; where daughter’s filter—the in-betweens,
and
sons channel. It’s ever this life, for this is my life, hung and
reborn.
I hear for Douglass, the virtue of love, to maintain balance;
and
God heard, to nudge for Christ, to flare the Holy Ghost. I’m a mile
afar,
and filled with darkness, looking at the Dark Night; for death was
there,
neat and crimp, and Naïve gave way; and thus, the stress, and
thus
the strife, repenting through seasons.
