Rain
is symbolic, so preternatural, such painful beauty; those colorful thoughts,
that moody person, that archaic deepness; where souls wander, fleeing
fleetingness, to return to fleetingness; this existential, as to digitize life,
seeping into universal vocals.
Hi Love; while
mourning churns, this peace by way of webs; to imagine prose, your eyes pulling
features, at tears to ponder mercy. We wonder about why, sealed by chaos, where fabrications proffer joys; this thing
of knowing, as a bit unknowing—this ambivalent atmosphere. It comes by seeing,
withdrawing for mercy, gazing at something sphinxly; to hear by choice, as
opposed to wholeness, where we speak by choice: this wave of riddles, torn by
idols, as realizing inconsistencies: this world of cries; those days to fly;
while reading into gestures: that discomfort; or more evasiveness; or more
those fiats. We’ve dug a ditch, whereat,
to place our dread, filled with particular grains; this threshing mind, this
plow by virtue, this prow as meddling nights; as particular passions, form a
fortress, to admire something crooked: this fire of emotions; this profane
aura; our days studying our persons. We
seep through essence, to know your soul, this stranger of personalities; while
redeeming hearts, this immortal justice, tugging at ideals; to shelter a
feeling, whereby, to probe infinity, a place at souls for swans: (as mind’s a
vehicle; your soul is affections; your spirit is indomitable); as living
adulthood, featured in traits, a bit hardened by truths: a forward brain, an
edge on life, plus, a particular feeling; to see others at ease, as we tippy
toe through life, our precautions not to offend—that unsteady fortress, as
fragile as porcelain, as bold as Proverbs; to come to terms, reading through
Psalms, cupping puddles of passions; where thoughts disrupt, as feelings
emerge, to come to private deductions; that place of souls, as sensational
mirrors, laughing with siblings. (I confess a secret: you’re far advanced,
trekking midnight rain, at needs to be aware of your mind): this indie music,
or mainstream powers, fettled by a gentle palm; as a keen soul, driven through
logic-spheres, tiptoeing cloudy mountains; this spring of wisdom, this cistern
of knowledge, that fire by flame.
