As
it falls, Love; to spin a reality, filled with forces; and yes to hear it, a
voice of waves, to use your breath. We
kindle filters, to shiver like ghosts, and through a face-star. I
speak it—to live it, sipping coffee; and why for not, connected to yogis, and
cryptic mystics. I pulled and called,
to grieve our days, and love our lives. Feel for monads, to guide a soul, to
channel through winters. I love to hear us, with a fleece of friends,
to dabble in different arts; but more to secrets, to love it like grace, or
even religion. We feel it turning, even a mind-clock, to grip
for hearts. We shift the fortune, to bless the world, to focus on love; and
never forget, the once for love, and stricken dearly. The fleece has grown, to love a few, to
share for gifts. It’s long this life, to feel intensely,
searching for therapy; but tears are purpose, a line of geese, to float away
grief; and more was told, to hold the Book, to battle the Dark Night. We live it torn, and born to magic, a young
martian. We live it lights, to cater
to souls, the deepest ritual. I love
to hear it, a cultic spin, to grin at sore awares. I imagine mischief, a want for power, to
challenge the stars—and tug the rivers, pouring through psyches, to identify
chi; for such is conscious, a trek through deserts, stressing the ink; in which
is gold, to unflood a soul, pouring into mother. I
laugh, a bit too serious, as stern as childhood; and more to know, as years
churn futures, to see it in self. We
share for pictures, a soul’s DNA, to seek the same God; where pain is grit, a
filter of wisdom, to see it for codes; for something’s pious, to dig the self,
where something churns. So live it
like wisdom, the deepest vortex, to feel for love.
