Some master existence, while others churn, so desperate to
capture existence. We’re of two minds, struggling towards destruction, as known
to flourish in righteousness; while mirrors evade truth, our natures uncouth,
but pulling towards this joy; the measure of his life, found mediocre, but able
to reach his breath. We play pretend, a monster as a friend, this inward gift;
wherefore, survival, the pressure of guillotines, desperate to render his
worth; while stressing essence, this twofold event, where a soul is split in
caves; whereat, we label, as identification, engrained in this want for love; this
inner note, a piano as thoughts, grounded so close to death. We run forever,
thus, to feel it forever, this inevitable breath; that dream of dreams, to have
given life, a woman at a sanctuary; this inner sanctum, as grieving this fight,
while arriving at happiness; for it mustn’t be love, as far the struggle, where
it soon became that love. We watched as heaven fell, tugged by forces, each
stripping a clump of power; whereat, were humans, as abated by stress, that
confused by life; to grind forever, his name in shackles, as merely a number;
wherewith, were stars, as stating their case, more terrified than innocence;
for tears show pain, while pain shows anger, where anger shows strength. It’s
sad to confess it, this misguided feeling, where life is a fraction of self; as
desperate to know self, if this must is green, to meet a myriad of souls; this
patch of orange, a tulip as a counselor, a daisy as a mentor; where purple
invades, as this claim towards glory, as to efface this present self; where art
is mission, this inward tension, while bees swarm a series of souls. We’re yet
to reach it—this inner calling, where souls are torn asunder; to have that
dream, cased in agony, pushing towards freedom.
