Immortal Wings

Oh to avoid it, this internal feature, morphed as an economy; this graphic picture, as trauma would arise, this motion of forces; while kissed abundance, suspended from graces, while charged with mercies; this inner kingdom, to seek eternals, as whispers plague leaves; that beating of winds, as partial to sands, while oceans pour into rivers; that bank of whys, at wars with sentences, where swans await a spiritual refuge. We live at agonies, this joy for salvation, to hear us feathered in hearts; as immortal wings, too clever to see self, as too witty to escape self; this pagan rite, flickering as shadows, this man lurching towards forgiveness; as never to ask, this sitting through time, while flooding a stranger’s perch: that echo of chirps; this curious seed; this wilderness seated at carnivals; as mystic loops, to shift his soul, where swans become impatient: this terrible affection; this crucial impasse; this thing where parents perish; for it isn’t life, this sorrow of homes, this angst generated in private; to seek for closure, adrift this galaxy, as torn asunder through inquiries. We’ve cried this night, (as unaffected), while searching for kindness; this outer forest, as an inner desert, where violets mourn our coming reigns; to see confusion, while praying for peace, at wars to change dispositions: this tragic outcome, thwarted by efforts, as to incur a group of rivals. It couldn’t be life, at tears with life, as one abandoned to life; as it couldn’t be love, to efface so gently, this one that is loved. It strips a soul, this tension by force, this course of destruction; to see this face, yearning as perfection, where cryptic arts pervade senses: this causal remark, as dear to heart, where cymbals devastate our kingdoms; as wanting kindness, for giving caprice, where said caprice causes traumas; as more for riches, where science if faulted, this world filled with sophism.  (I feel you dancing, aware of rains, provoking chi: a thump this direction; a mist that direction; a tsunami at points in time; but life is mystic, as we rarely know, while I confirm to generate confidences; as centered at turns, electric as lightning, this thunder as a volt; to sing eternally, while stressing facts, this inner existential; where arts are chaotic, as time in thoughts, while most are running towards wisdom. We must forgive, as therapy demands, while maintaining a distance from pains; as more to dissect, as more to exploit, as a vehicle for aiding others; this midnight blue, as casual greens, to envelope in jasper dreams. I love you more, as a daughter to rites, where none may trespass: this is our Soul, these immortal wings, streaming as rain invades our spirits; this miracle voice, your choice of styles, to pull from multiple disciplines; as pure in spirit, while murky at gardens, as to live forever this soul; in as much, to gain, by living good manners, standing at this portico; where riches shall come, while a soul is clear, this place of building strengths; to have for friends, this want to succeed, where others may grow a bit envious; but more to love, where grains are colors, as to permeate our textures: this inner omen; that graphic experience; this reason to chase fire).