Chi, Volts, & Something Holy

I feel forces, this un-casual inversion, to shoot a spark or castle a king, where hell pauses its intrusions; this seedless seed, racing through spaces, as more psychology. I feel a force, even a small smile, enlightened by grays; to flourish as spirits, this warm enchantment, to analyze each thump. This man is mad, addicted to forces, pushing passed inadequacies; the deepest thoughts, peppered by chi, while ghosts run ramped: our kingdom beckons life, as afforded grays, as perky as a woman’s aura; to ponder suffering, through third eye dilemmas, a cover shrouding our pyramids. I love with reason, not merely for she said it, alive but a fraction this inner person; to flee and fly, flitting near volcanoes, peering at lovely swans; this universal, as cornered at times, pleading for this breakthrough; to hear a psych, as constructing life, by way a subtle remark. Our worlds are spacious, even this professor’s, as one building a castle; where demons lurk, while angels war, this lantern burning pasted midnight. We felt for chi, to morph to volts, to ease into something holy: this force by souls, that gradual tug, this woman praying for clarity. I know a mother, traveling webs, a bit aloof to her dilemmas; to see for rivalry, a father in chains, while I wonder of our futures: this thing of prisons; this scandal of affairs; this light reaching beyond our hemispheres; to clash with darkness, this place that screams, as to cull our worth this eagle. I shifted a moment, to see those eyes, a bit concerned over fates: I died at times, crying her name, a fool to this large estate; where psychs would watch, a bit at distance, while collecting data; this furious drama, cut by bones, this brine and blood—to see this face, pressured by hearts, this inner manifestation—where swans dwell, this fragile soul, a bit too rough for magic. I heard a thump, to feel a volt, where seconds became intrusive: this song about love, to hold our course, a bit concerned about crossing paths; for its easy to sing, while songs are casual, about something so close to home; where Kerry smiles, this grand illusion, a bit too tired to respond.