We
love consistency, the honor of love, as potent as liquor; the feeling, even for
numbness, to feel for spirits. I know for us, a favored dynamic, even a bit
impartial; but oh the wants, to travel the mountains, skiing and skating; to
see for lights, this inner cauldron, to know for ghosts; for the waves are
green, to embark the journey, to panic at the ingress. This is pain, to leave
so much—to dangle in the balance. The swans are watching; to glean for
learning—of life vs. deaths; so more to accuracy, to live as example, that
words carry impact; but what of life, the walk of adults, to perish the
in-betweens? I ask—a bit unaware, to carry the burden. I’ll do for parts, the
shattered maze, as brave as wolves; to see for glory, this inner flame, to
touch for hearts. I loved a riddle, even more the grays, to passion through the
storms. Its meter to verse, a silent curse, to rehearse a goodbye; where rain
is tragic, the tour of lives, to want with emphasis: the prose and love, the
hearts and gloves, the silent yearnings. Oh the glory, to grieve the precious
moments, to hurt though gathered splinters. It was never this ‘plexed, a child
on a tricycle, staring at mother’s eyes; to perish so often, the wealth of
adult-life, to pardon decisions. It’s mix to match, that deep in prayer, to
sculpt an inner fortress; where love is grand, to reach for hands, an invisible
soul. I ache for us, this neverish wind, the glens of an oasis; in which is
passion, the form of chi, to cycle through turmoil. It was life, the grandest
fire, to meet for eloquence; whereat the flicker, to radiate gently, the call
of this venture; ever to love, forever to die, watching the sun come
forth.
