There’s
such an up-fall—this vivid unseen—as nearly delirious. There’s such a
down-rise, the sickest therapy, as tears disappear. It had to be life, as panic
and turmoil, as a nervous jitter; as longing in segments, as changing with
flux—these as venues leading to valleys. I loved with error, so close—so far,
as to believe in love. I cried in anger, and laughed in tears, that closer to
humanity’s edge. It couldn’t be life, the hearts of dragons, as destined for
soul-aches; and it couldn’t be life, the spirit as cringing, as fraught with
holiness. We find in passions, this
unreal reality, as to affect a community. We find in love, this twofold nature,
this thing tugging and pushing; as to outlive love, to trickle into
eternity—this thing of miracles; for it couldn’t be life, to meet such a
soul—to perish such a soul! The
colors spin—this pier of carnivals, as one spinning his life; as tucked into a
shadow, as obscure as poverty—this internal tussling. We walk in vengeance, as
moving to live, this value beyond measure. We breathe in fury, this furious
fever, as wrestling through fractions; to generate anger, to conjure a dream,
as too difficult for discussions; to hold a position, despite the pressure,
longing for a way out; but this is us, as jewels and gems, trekking a deathless
valley. We often drift, treading upon fantasies—this wish for something
extraordinary! We dig for roots, as rooted in pains, as grappling at walls.
This couldn’t be life, as filled with complex—the struggle for clarity; and it
couldn’t be life, this yearly joy—running as to get away; where symbols erupt,
and passions flourish, if only for that yearly joy.
