The Rainbows are Morphing II

I feel a fever—fervent and full, to frequent forever; this inner terror, this inward tremble, trekking the tumbleweed; oh to love you, a strange affair, and filled with wine—that outward sinning; where something cries, to carry chaos, sealed and suffering. It’s more a challenge, to conquer cages, walking through a prison; the guards are watching, both imps and angels, tugging at intentions. I live your life, to filter intelligence, to flame forever; in which the hurt, to blossom slowly, to prove the heaviness; oh the passion, screaming and sick, a sudden healing; where life is grand, throughout the thinking, to ponder the One, to register the Many. Oh to fly, if but a second, confined to motion; the changing tides, as active as love, to nibble the tidbits; in fact to die, to flee the glee, as green as grass; where love is magic, to hold the sullen, to call the poetess.

If only the soul, as gone as insanity, to plead a psych; oh to God, to sing the life, to harass justice. I spoke it loudly, to pull the neighborhood, screaming to God; to perish heart, and grow aflame, the deaths by minutes; whereat are grains, to strike a mind, to flicker like ember; where the goddess heard, to dig for deeper, to gyrate a heart. The days were golden, to swim as sharks, as calm as dolphins. We love for passion, to scold and laugh—that closer the soulbeats; where daughters sketch—the words of volume—the cryptic mirrors; in which is air, the breath of mind, a steed through the vineyards. It’s more to mercy, to ask the same, to gasp and give forgiveness; else to falter, to trek a long freeway, hoping for red lights.