To
throw a tantrum, as filled with rage, this senseless tantrum; as to die in
fragments, lying to a psych, as to hold things together! We soon perish, as
fraught with joys, to ponder grandma: those high tides, as ever a breakthrough,
sipping punch. I failed her eyes, while nearly bankrupt, as she kissed a wound.
We knew for trauma, as hidden in religion, as Purple Rain; but this was grandma, fevered by love, adept at
worship. I mix venues, to see your tears, as reaching for something new; where
mother cried, therewith a pearl, to lose a young daughter. This was sister,
unborn to fret, surging through a sibling. I fly your earth, to want such
glory, to remember a tragic moment; as born to death, this whispered sting, a
crowd of mixed faces; wherewith, are scars, a thousand traumas, a million
wounds. If to say it, the heart would churn—these words of love. I passed a
test, as never to trespass, where sentiments grew; whereat is confusion, to
love a feather, as floating to heaven; where mother warned, of golden thrills,
of the lack of love. It’s moment to moment, grove to grove, a second in a
pageant; to feel embrace, as face to storm, a twelve year secret. I cry to
fathom, this green eyed woman, as hassled as disbelief. It couldn’t be real,
this innocent love, this dangerous woman; as born gyrating, this natural
infusion, an album born of love. I remember panic, as grieved to pursue, a
woman twice my wisdom. Mother would cringe, to know for love, a woman of the
mainline; to sit as soldiers, to converse as warriors, to find conclusions; as
if to sing, this bluebird song, where mother forgave. I knew a friend that knew
of love, to witness this outcome. We spoke of doors, as pulling back, to
envision this legacy.
