How
to redeem this soul
—fully
abstract, to see for reason?
I
loved her more, to unslake a vision,
as
dead as this living life.
I
found us, at the dome of love,
and
complicated dearly; to see it rise,
this
thrust of days, as chill as midnight;
to
love the senseless, and abate for nothing,
to
write an opus; where angels waft, and demons cry, to blend into humanity; for
what is it, to control a sane man, at the cost of losing temperature? Its hell
the frequency, the loss of valleys, to simmer in hostilities; and fallin’ this night,
to ride a horse, that thrown through heavens; to beckon the language, a twinge
of insight, as free-flowing as winds.
How
to aby the soul
—thwart
for damaged—the sigh of the
lands;
to chisel perfection, even a false dream,
that
closer reality’s fields; to pause and
die,
flitting through pains, to finally gain
control;
where rain is lethal—to flog
perception,
to beat a conscience.
