There
are for segments, and splintered minds, to shiver through sorrows. We
should
for shouldn’ts, and wouldn’ts for woulds. It’s a complex
math, for a
burning
heart, to fathom your aura. I see you there, in another’s countenance,
but
splinters of a self. We wrestle words, to see for realms, a hunch piercing
for
guts. I fell your gaze, to rise your brow, the birth of green thorns; and
such
the vine, to pluck for grapes, to fiddle a winepress; for thus is spirit, to
pace
a mile, shifting our souls. I heard a voice, in midst a ritual, fallin’ to
rise
this life. I love it next, to flex a vest, to test for liquor. I could for
giving,
to
would for living, to know we wouldn’t. Oh the majesty, a thumping heart,
to
mean for little; and why for me, the death of pash, to cleave something
stronger;
and there’s vision, a turn for left, a grand silhouette; in which to
perish,
whereat is beauty, a touch aesthetic. I rise a nightmare, and filled with
angst,
a mother running with child; and God can see, a fleet of prayers, to die
where
she stood. We reckon greyly, to fail and breathe, an ocean of worries;
and
crystal wines, for squiggly lines, to find for a myth; and God came, to
part
a vision, for souls to run. We
picture so perfect, and never to see, a
person
cringing and righteous; for such to practice, is thus to live, alive in sin;
for
secrets breed, a wealth of mazes, to pity a scoundrel; and something digs,
the depth of self,
reaching for faces.
