It’s
grounded in features, this magnificent death—the jewels of a living ace; to
master as kings, these queens of life—a jack as jester. I’m ten miles in, and
nine miles afar, staring at a crazy eight;
to
perish at seven, as a six of clubs, enthralled by five senses. I’ve cried this
life, skipping through traumas, as clearly of much help; and filled with
diamonds, a countenance that wails, these days of mischief! I’ve loved as
degrees,
filtered
through vines, a treasure to a system; this elaborate daymare, soothing the
cares of ignorance, challenged to hold this breath. Oh for irritations, and
hectic vibrations, a soul rummaging Tai Chi;
to
have this vision, a tear for feng shui, for love has melded terrors; the lights
of such damage, as a frigid soul, yearning for the warmth of palms; to have as
defeat, this fleet of woes, when she uttered, I love us. It mustn’t just die,
this
age of kismet, a flower upon a butterfly; where love was hell, as the only form
given, whereat, are arms bleeding grief; for something so simple—as a kind
reply, we perish a lifetime of envy. It mustn’t just live,
this
febrile hatred, for one that uttered the truth; for if it hurts so deeply, than
why repeat death, as if one is demented dearly,
soaring
through vexation, dying to kill life,
where
disease has ruined souls.
I
ask alone, tired of the nights, whereto, the days are tiresome; but truth be
life, the volts and jolts—the Ghost as rising; to feel adventure, this nameless
lot, to merely dwell in presence; to love for spirits, roaming the chattered
earth,
forbidden
from touching her face.
