While jolts are ramped, this alarming heart, our suns are
shimmering come salutations; or that midday volt, permeated by concentration,
where souls are masterful;—in search of greatness, that inner illumination,
while charged by a thousand temples. This mind of mystery, this wave of canoes,
flitting through midair; this underground meadow, this brook for shadows, that
screaming awareness; where souls jitter, as cages open, where caves are mystic
passions; to feel this arc, surging through comets, alas—our seconds whisper
names. It became this life, this promise of music, while preserving our
courage: to hydroplane marsh, while diluting malice—this culture of faceless
flames; where a soul is raptures, that mind of inquiry—pausing through several
sensations; while often it comes, that major impact, as to devastate
perceptions: this mind—a vehicle of hearts, this outer intelligence, as to
select for projection; while piercing caves, as to often awake it—this vest of
omniscience. One is gathered in presence, as fueled by communities, albeit, as
awakened in self; this touch of strength, while wailing in spirit—just enough
to rejuvenate; while often absent, as saturated in jolts, as awaiting pious
illumination. Our realms are mystic, whereat, are scars—these terrible
dreams;—for to harness one, is to awaken contrast—this mystery we can’t define;
while so close to life, this planet of waves—charged with this
rollercoaster;—as jaded in parts, this wonder of sacrifice, this peace infused
with detriments;—but more this force, this inner thermometer—rising in
pressure; for this is life, this fantastic dream, as created in reality; as to
calculate spirits, by mere a thump, to know for meditation; wherewith, are
ruses, this deep deceit, as to wrestle with principalities.
