Swan Hearted

We try so hard;—where trying fails, to our injury. How to understand, even as a swan, peering at morning rain? We love at distance, a chimney of smaze, grazing upon difficulties. I’d love for you to see…all for skyfallings; earth as an upwelling; even tears as a secret vice; but heart to you…a young lady, stationed in beige quarters, crossing tees for doting traumas. We magic this affair, for trapped in bars…ever that scarred; where hell is vivid, even for torn, tacking mind-prints upon a graph. We must affirm, your deepest feelings, else for a tinge of distrust; to die so readily, on a swan’s behalf, to fumble in our weary lives.

Seek for being sought;—such a mystical language, where promise trickles unto a rainfall; for this is art—our minds as segues, to journey for unspoken. It sounds so gray, when heart is here for now, to burden oneself with sights; but love is vehicle—by which a furnace, to reach an endless peak; else to perish situations, left without recourse, more than a mile of frustration; but know we care, stressing the same dungeons, as equipped as seeking; to find a cure, for something so foggy, that close to your palms; for this is wild, the growing of souls, stored in a flame; where love is sliced, as want for goodness, as struggle through essence.