Open
eyes, Dove—to see this world, for glory and pain; to rain come midnight,
forever at arms, a weapon through the forest; and dream this wealth, a letter
in a bottle, ever my shore. We claim for raw, a custom manicured, to die
through resurrection. Oh the sun, a walking masterpiece, as beautiful as sin;
to fall like leaves, to seal like glue, the magnitude of grace. I sought
romance, the chase of deers, to meet catastrophe; where pearls beckon, the moon
to drift, and miles to deserts. I fell apart, an ignition revving, stressed in
overdrive; whereby the pain, to hate in that moment, stripped of dignity. I
know of love, a goddess in veil, as hellish as compassion; to signal death, the
greatest war, to ask for youth eternal; and cry this night, a whisper to ears,
to change his life. I died to see her, as warm as fire, to perish her
heartbeat. Oh the words, to challenge terms, to earn this weal; and rubber
burns, to stain the gravel, a man at war; and was it self, the chains of glory,
to lose a vessel; to claim immortal, and so young, to chase this life; where
monsters roam, to hassle dreams, the screams as a nightmare. Its pantomime,
that near a manikin, to endure the rain. I couldn’t see it, a Danish star, to
ignore unto revelation. I sought for waves, a burden to a dream, to ruin
reputation; and more the hurt, to flee from self, to scribe a mirror—as sight
and death, the span of lives, to mourn and sigh. We locked a vision, to tiptoe
illusion, to greet infinity; and live her flame, to churn in circles, to
scratch this soul; and die our hearts, to seek out pardons, for something
lingers. Oh the days, to master pianos, sketching symbols of music; to seize
the passion, to skip the trauma, a mile to the finish line.
