Shiloh Within

I hear it screaming, those profound introjects, this thing she can’t heal; to keep it to self, aside for this missive, staring at jasper musings; this beautiful dove, those flights of music, as to perform through silence; this opera by name, this deep legacy, in touch with reality: as broken in parts; while fused through illusions; this grave by far a powerful enemy; but more to death, this kef of experience, to resurrect as a butterfly; that casual swan; as so eclectic, flitting through fantasies; as died our mothers, confined to chaos, a bit confused concerning prophecies. I landed young, to see a spade, this force by spirit a misfit; to harvest a dream, this thing for poetry, while chasing realities. I met a muse, as to loathe his soul, where opposites ignite passion; to die once more, as to journey our fifth floor, gazing as to fly that realization. I have a family, this thing of differences, to know I’m ill-equipped; this silent man, as more to vocals, composed of philosophies; to choose nuances, as more to solitudes—while conjuring this furious storm; as less civilize, but more energized, trekking this marshy terrain; to palm a mayfly, or sing a magpie, this essence for broke his realities. I heard the Buddha, steeped in maya, to rest against trees as pillars; to disrupt functions, this inner operation, while employing calmness as strategy; this earth as void, this time as transient, this world as intractable: our recalcitrant souls, in need of academies, while visions assault our realities. I held a child—while summoning Yahweh, to witness this golden simile; where peace is hectic, this nest of humans, to witness this misconception of love; those repeated errors—our lives as tragedy, to come to that place time for again; where souls cry, as to cleave to anchors, where strength comes as an infection. Our karmas are mischief, searching for one joy, to give this sake of treachery; this vexing glow, to fall that pit, where mother laughs hysterically. It’s hard to fathom, this cycle of vengeance—this mirror, this bone, this essence of sadness; to jaunt with friends, as to call it love, while to jilt an angel: those days were cold, that method of affections, as to tire so quickly. I must confess, this grand addiction, to want exhilaration at every moment; but this is life—this passion for sailing, to flit through paths aflame; as passed to children, this remote island, to want much more for them: that surreal mystic; that christic Buddhist; that Delphic mentality; as soaring through caves, this boundless upsurge, this width by love a nightsong. I met an angel, this inner opus, trekking through mental thickets; to feel so vague, as more a mistake, to land this island once again; this furious music, this cultic phantom, that woman by fate an error; to die with addicts, as puffing a clove, this sipping by fate an error; where mothers fume, as driven to madness—this thing concerning control. I’m more a fantast, even a symbol, to die with grace this love; to pursue his mission, faulted for living, while deep our guts we perish. I had to grab it, this place of theism, despite abandonment. It’s quite for hectic, this thing of souls, to want for death that one we reject; but this is love, this tinge of fire, that gemstone painted spellbound; at tears with hearts, to feel afire, as to ignore the God we serve. It had to be life, stripped of assets, as to lean upon something immortal: that deep mystique; that texture of fire; that mother by chance a great fit; where spirits die, while seeking refuge, as made privy to that clause of love; this fabulous tragedy, as to fuel a mystic, where swans participate in existence: that feminine fire; that trench of insights; our Shiloh a place within: that furious island, as pulled from afar, this land as becoming a seashore; to trek this beach, filled with songbirds—this tempo by arts a library; to die again, as living immortal, to know with her he couldn’t fly; this tragic reality, infused with gems, to escape that thing he use to chase; where hell was music, as so nonchalant, a champion of shackles.