It’s heavy but somber, while electric but deep—that place
beneath hearts; this rhythmic cult, a yogic horn, while difficult to cipher. I
was greeted at morning: I was beckoned come noon: I grew sad come nightfall.
There’s essence this life, wishing to believe, in more than reflections; so
distant from caves, while seized by inner jolts, this waltz—this city; as slain
with presence, this pressure of souls, while drawn to a pure thought: not of
texture, but richness, to retreat into awareness; that deep gaze, peering
through souls, affected by christic lights; to find us—that treasured spin,
grinning at hidden moments; as known for purpose, this miracle event, to seep
into love; not by greed, but rather appreciation, to commune this mystery
friend. I lost a name; it returned with pleasure; while presence was
systematic; that fair approach, as inching forward, this place of boxed fires;
as knowing for tears, filtered in vitamins, while skiing a mystic slope. I
thought about years, this pace of snails, to realize this is caution; that
needed vehicle, as to vet our souls, while knitting that fantastic voyage. I’m
feeling normal, at home with this castle, alert to private powers; to
distinguish a feeling, while some are roots, tugging at our earth’s core: the
richer powers, those fastened to pains, while working to jog their cousins; so
sorrow gavels its picture, as to unbolt its nature, while sorrow remains
entrenched. I then responded, as to uproot reflection, while reacting to a kind
gesture: as to know for motive, the sweetest flavors—those inner trials;
whereto, this deep triumph, to want for nothing, aside for altruism; this
tricky word, for we must commune, steeped in mutual awareness. I found us
skating, as blessed with seasons, whereby, we inch through meters; to possess
this feeling, this supernal ghost, as to utter: “I am this thing”: this feral
taming; this walk with prose; even that person that tends to frighten; where it
must be life, this land of ponds, where doves nigh for bread; so tears we live,
as aerosol winds, fretted in this kingdom: my life my heart; our pains our
souls; this warmth this friend.
