To
have but one moment; this time to perish; as birth settles into a scream; to
know for courage, this human condition, as
outwitting emotions—one captured by a dream; it couldn’t be real—the elegance
of love, the dignity of pain, the integrity of passions; to have but one tear,
as focused as ambitions, to cherish but one moment! It couldn’t be real—as
invested in life—your heartbeat as purpose; to dig out deaths, our emotions as
tools—feathered as an angelic savior; but where was sorrow, as flesh of my
bone, as souls were excavated! This couldn’t be us—as two
owls—argus-eyed—suffering through a plethora of tensions; and it couldn’t be
us—living as shadowed—by the auguries of pressure; and it couldn’t be
us—reaching as lifelines, filled with expectations; for it mustn’t be us—as
confused dearly, gripping for guidance—this deep abandonment; where drifting is
easy, for saviors must depart, at least through self-prophecy. We lean for
comforts—that removed from eternity—a person as but a moment; therewith, is
fate—this cycle of scars, this seeking of a savior! Oh to come to terms; to
love but the fever, as sheltered by the woes; this crying river, to rebuild
souls, as two destined for eternity. It couldn’t be death, as giving such life,
wherewith, are remarkable joys—as friendship ensues, our eyes as
territories—our souls as dominions! Lights are, hereby, defined—as twofold
entities, this paradoxical design; where parts are floating, apparent to minds,
this greenhouse effusion; else for permanence, this permanent cycle, as
beheaded by actions; to repeat a phrase, as lost to a whirlwind—The challenges of intimacy!—where this
is angst, as dancing to perish, as the many jades the soul.
