Our Souls at Measures

You never disappeared, as present this soul, a camouflage to brains. I see you in traffic, as moments this hour—semi-intoxicated; while peering at mirrors, to live that voice, this woman leaping faces. I called it shallow, this thought for mercy, where hearts became infantry. I died your life, as taupe this rain, at tears to utter your name. There’s times to settle, with times to war, but ours is hectic; this fatal embrace, where he lives forever, a product of first love; but set us free, as opposed to dancing, where ballet becomes pain; or rather, capture this angst, to feel through ribs—this immortal calm. Its spirit combat;—to keep perspective—this trenchant wonder: as love has died, while deepness lives, this thing we can’t agree. I know for pressure, while gazing at mothers, to imagine this woman—as sheer complete, or more to yearning, this craving seeping deeply. I must retreat, for we need for nothing, aside for such poetry; that captured glance, at souls to conjure, where love is pictured in thoughts; this mad affection, as sheer affliction, while souls cry in shadows; to mourn tomorrow, at woes today, pining for something genuine. I court a heart, to section in agony, this need for immortal peace; as hell this mind, appeased through touch, in-love with mystics. It shouldn’t be us, reading as falling, disguised in factious grins: to hear your face, broken in seconds, as mother churned this grave. It’s more to feel, than ever to thresh, this texture of reality; as art is musing, while pain is passion, until we capture that tragedy. I remember disdain, this man that knows, this tableau of personas. I paid little concern, a level unconscious, where warlords struck: that thing of membrance; that partial turn; that pain oozing through character. It was sheer fright, this welkin pace, where passions erupted. I’m now a fever, thrusting through chimes, at heart a friend; where this is spirit, at terms this distance, at woes this confusion; while hearts palpitate, whereat, are volts, this sudden leap through nations. We found us, that same experience, peering where eyes can’t see; that inkling song, at souls this chase, to render a taste of chaos; but this is journey, as to hold infinity, stressing this blockage of palms. I end in love, this contradiction, at wars to live.