I’m
here; and plus for there; and more for nowhere; and more for everywhere!
The
tides for indifferent—and so much to touch—to opt for friendship.
There’s
a tear for elevators—and all the silence,
closer
than arm-widths; but still for silence—and not a thank you
—for
something called chivalry.
I
strip a thought, for still to give, where one is kind;
and
never did it—for something gray
—but
more for love.
We
filter this way, gazing for smiles, as distant as pessimism.
The
days are churned—searching for optimism—staring at blank intentions.
“I’m
open”—one says, to forsake responsibility.
The
world is turning, the axis is grand, for something receptive; and why for love,
to
give for definition: a friend, a dream, a partner! I see it more, a need for
hearts,
to master depression
—lost
and found—to tiptoe a cliff.
I
move the laughter, to psych-out self—to soon return; and love is won, for
rarely
given, to mistaken sex.
This
is life—forever for thoughts, where passion was moments; and how to love,
flawed
and sullen, looking for the best of life; in which to find—a rocky trail
—to
structure idiosyncrasies; whereat is union, the seat of cores, stressing
through
wretchedness;
but more to smiles, and quiet the music, to climb for daily;
where
love is strength, to know for worth, and pouring out old coffee.
I
feel it strongly, the arts to churn, as torn as refugees; and more apologies,
for
seeing
con, to respond like wolves: ever to watch, to wait the move, and turn for
mountains.
It’s quite emphatic—to live this life—a defensive spark;
where
home is spirits, a den of feelings, to perish to unwind.
