I Feel (It) more

There’s sadness this second, objective sorrow, at once, this mirror; this task of activity, that drum to heart, this saxophone screaming; at moments that love, this infinite storm, to claim control. I laugh at mirrors, this metaphor our deceit, for laughter is rare. I’d perish to change it, as needed this silence, while dying, nonetheless; whereto, his heart, wailing at ceilings, to bare light afloat; this welkin harp, that infant trumpet, those minds sent for wisdom. Its esoteric, this cryptic maze, at tears, an inner mystic; to peer at caves, to uproot crevices, to crave that intuition; this art of souls, deep to ignite, this hand at puzzles; to flood introjects, too calm to speak, as to wonder of this future. There’s must it is, to war at channels, a product of wounded tissues; to electric self, as crawling above, too low to see our gates. I must arise, clawing for entrance, to receive tribunal; that space of arts, that book of tears, that place to rescue grace; for more it lives, this penance of souls, at earth, at war, this mind. We lived early, running amuck, vying for love; to see reflection, as sheer our shame, rebuked at temples. I should relent, where pain is free, to outlive that grief; but more is hell, to see injustice, as something inherent in life; this thought of shards, to know disgrace, a man at war his journey; to paint a feeling, this flock of geese, landing upon a soul’s lagoon; this nook of shadows, this brook of pressures, this crook, at tears, an angel; to fly by mass, this crass response, our math a percentage shy; while love would blossom, this captured heart, to deny feelings of yonder; as claimed our strangers, this ice of deserts, a mirror that couldn’t see; as more to hells, to claim exempt, where mothers nurture wounds; this tragic sky, this fuse of sockets, at once, an angry goodbye; to grip at cords, that moment suited, to ruin what lives. I can’t to fathom, that course of woes, at arts, this man his flaming sword. We read of fey, to feel enchant, as there it sprouts: that inner craving; that mystic moon; this thing concerning literature; to kneel for prayers, as soon consumed, to have convergence; that inner strength, as revealed powers, to affect our climate; this trope for souls, to aid through pain, this welkin heart. I feel it more, to soar as humble, this force converting minds.