Flitting to Fly

I tread steadily, a bit too cautious, that morning as devastating; to grow as vines, so wild that nature, fraught with life; that casual storm, as grave infusion, while plucking berries. I felt an arc, this constant sensation, at needs to realize names; but worlds are vast, this sea of traumas, alert by chance, those mirrors. It took for pains, that inner furniture, a set of light-bulbs: while born to live, that mental catapult, influenced by mere gestures; to claim for wiles, but couldn’t define, that very tactic; where souls would laugh, as pursuing an action, as cold as blue skies. I confessed a folly, as to shift a turn, where blessings poured forward: that grain of bliss, while hassled by brains—this fear as trembling. We must retreat, while claiming for love, or rather, to hate our guts; where daughters mourn, to see our colors, as found a bit disgusting; but more to arcs, that inner wild-wind, fueled by a furnace; to sketch a graph, imprinted in spirits, that longing for a mental image: so strong her style; so bold her plight; this woman by arts a magician.  We conjure flames, buried in territories, that inner universe; to find you there, a bit unsteady, peering at eyes; as looking terrified, to have had that feeling, doing that that people tremble. I could but flourish; that reward of graves, where irritation ensues; to blend with cultures, while broken with scars, fleeing through inner deserts; to see your aura, hovering in midair, a tear judgmental. I felt a power, jiving in spirits, this thing concerning souls; as oh for titles, to explain that nature, where gifts are similar that reign; to die at youth—so early that tear, to arise through traumas; also much their vex, to witness a spirit, at once, those insecurities. I planted a planet, as cultivated for years, this soil of fruits; to drift so far, as to lose so much, this thing they but influence: that locomotive; that driven engine; those times at flight in stillness; to see your eyes, pictured in passions, as troubled as lionesses; where love is given, this inner vibration, to rattle a cage. It took for years, to divest a soul—of something so lonely; and it took for seconds, that inner wrung, to unravel a tear: this deep influence, as to alter brains, fleeing as flitting to fly.