We’re
embedded in a spark, this lark of chants—this art of flickering flames; about
which, are spirits, wherewith, are songs, driving us into infinity; to voice
communion, a room so empty, to enter our communities. We find this thing, this
intoxicating essence, to ease such loneliness: this grand affection, our source
of intuition, as floating through souls; to leave a spark, the space of
humans—this self-communication; as
grounded with wings, to have but moments, such to expand as entities; where
hell ponders souls, as for plucking feathers, where something ironic occurs.
This mustn’t be life—the grayness of being,
to which, are lavish wings; but why this word, this glorious fuse, as to
deny misfortune; at which, are thoughts, such critical lines, to see such
sickness; as born to aid, a future of patients, addicted to self-medication.
We’ve never cried in vain, where spirits are loose, as one face to face with a
phantom; here-at, is wisdom, as found for years, as roaming Jerusalem; only to
reappear, especially, to self, guided by this ruling flame; for there’re stars
by day, and smoke by night, this internal fire, manifested outwardly. I can’t
but see her—this fusion of light, as structured as sophistication. I sigh her
name, the opus of a swan, to see her as one sees a daughter; but it couldn’t be
real, as to touch through chi—a myriad of souls; as to climb through darkness,
pleading for a smile, if only to see her in glory; for this is love: to have
seen nothing, but filled with faith, believing in this inner dimension. How to
resist it—this flaming castle, this blended reality, where all becomes a system
of activities. I sigh and pause, skating into a dream, to greet the God in us!
