Oh
the mercy, forever we glide, the fire of Spirit; and oh to love you, a gentle
swan, abiding in a kingdom. The day is love, the fever of parties—that spark
divine. I venture left, to rescue right, filled with contempt; for years were
hay-fever, this spiritual marking, to crawl to glory. It’s connected barely, to
reach the intellect, a stickler for rules; but see the purpose, to love you
wordly, and love you spiritly, to master the friction; for this is you, a young
swan, even a lady, to watch the reputation; for pain is near, to set up traps,
to ruin persona; so fly with grace, to ponder outcomes, to know for harmony;
else to perish, the plight of nonsense, to learn to hate—those like men, where
contempt builds, to devastate a mirror; but more to love, the shadowed wave, to
scream in unison. I hear the
petition, to want for Xanadu, where reality haunts; but this is life, the chief
of kingdoms, where spirit fluctuates in desires; and oh the mercy, to meet for
eyes, to do it rightly; where some pledge, a bit more ecstatically, to cause
for caution; so flee the lies, the deepest deceit, to operate in truths; else
to perish, to hate all men, to repeat a bloody cycle. I love you breathing, free of agony,
streaming through portals; to see for glory, that subtle spot, to realize the
divine; but know the emphatic, to caution the soul, to feel the webs. You’ll never read it, to know for sects,
to finally read it; where words morph, to claim a psyche, to sort through the
minutia. It’s very clear: “You can
have certain thoughts; and nothing more”; where this is madness, to favor pain,
in which the truth causes rain. It’s quite for crazy, to live the vex—to hate
for resistance; but why believe, that thing—that doesn’t carry itself.
