Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Something Mystic Took Place
We fuse in heartbeats, fettled by lightning, this flickering sanity; while to artifact life, holding to precious topaz, befuddled by kindness: this world at pressures; this rain with pleasures; or more our mirrors seeking Father. We find at substance, ready for identity, analyzing textures; as filled with ether, this glorious soul, too young to calculate infusion: this dream we had; that night of flames; those seconds flushed with fever; as seeking images—our souls inverted, reaching for trinkets. We measure passion, dependent on status, where love throttles buttons; as ever this intake, sullen with purpose, our rainbows chasing unicorns. We fly with death, those infant degrees—a second for a butterfly this pain; as casual sin, this deep retreat, indulging in something harmful; this pony affair, as glamorous quartz, fishing where persons fell in; this tear searing steel, those long years of dripping—empowered by this sudden rescue; as floating this life, an earthquake as a greeting, this woman flickering through passions. There’s flavored water, these souls as kilns, this cosmic furnace; to love a swan, at art a symbol, while daughters reach for mother’s ears; to hear such silence, as warm with wisdom, this place a thousand doves; to move with turtles, as to morph with hawks, to find a mountain of centaurs—this life of souls, burning through mystics—this yogic departure—as found this rift, as severing silence—our mirrors but an extension of our fires. It had to be lights, seated in forever, longing for never-our-distance; to see this leaf, flickering in autumn, as thunder pressured auburn images; this want for mercy, this need to exist—that too close affliction; to picture a sign, this symbol upon skies, while falling into oxygen. Our souls ignite,—engines through galaxies,—fueled by a perfect vision—this gallery of minds, our chimes to winds, this valley of valleys our love; to drift with purpose, as sculpting an image, sleeping as to fly eternal; this thing of hearts, this flicker of actions, as determined through this restless breath; to know this name, a flicker but a star, at tears with ecstasy: this major contention; our proofs of existence; a bit too precious for microscopes.
Strumming a Harp
By language we speak to audibility and coherence. To compose to feel understood, in spite of language applied. A person spends years misunde...
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It took anxiety to utter affection; soundness by decision, to wander into a soul, to knit excellence; vow of one heart, love as cushion, e...
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Miles until completion. Rivers bypassed. Oceans dwelled in. Explosive pains, such differing creeds. Too much time suffers; by candlelight ...