This
abundant joy, fraught with such sorrow, as becoming a paradox; to offend
casually, gripping false pride, as to abandon humility: I’m getting clearer, as
praise to psychs, this passage of entities; as abused was, to become free,
while to hear a dead voice; this cryptic woman, as to summons graves, those
years as adolescence; to curb a prayer, seated at hearts, to feel this young
swan; as not to preach, but to appreciate souls, as to share our gifts. I love
by nature, founded in Christ, to defend a certain surge; where mothers pant, as
fathers guzzle, as two come into fires. It took for years, to sage this life,
as one gauged as wisdom; to see your face, as affronting this heart, while to
appease through graces: this fabulous storm; that curious seed; those ways I
must defend; this furious woman, as sectioned to perish, this fate afforded to
souls; but more to joys, this locomotive, as trains stress cultic psyches. I
asked a question, as to stir disdain, while to love fervently; this fever of
fools, as to evolve this mind, this person flaming through Jesus. It had to
live us, this laboring phrase, as to impute a secret. I find a cave, where
anger would linger, as concerned to confess; plus, for therapy, this subtle reply,
that strikes at consciousness. It could be gravy, if not for resistance, as one
that adores sipping; this casual address, this immortal woman, this place given
to aid souls. I must confess, this love for music, while striking through
planets; to feel this Ghost, or to feel our hearts, as to resonate as immortals; this logic cry, as painted
upon brains, where one fasts for several weeks; this gift of days, while deep
in reason, as to chase through
electricity. I pride this face, as to hypnotize a soul, where eyes are lemur
dimensions; to sing with passion, this deep economy, while races flee
pigmentation. I hear a swan, as to hear another, as our worlds clash unto a
storm; this inner cadence, as featured to live, this thing come sorrows—We perish; as gifted with fervor, as
lifted with anguish, as dying to redeem our souls. I loved an image, as to
fiddle with illusions, while said art became a world: this passage of sighing,
as deep in affections, to lose this self a bit slanted; as daughters mused,
this rich rhythm, to covet this type of illustration: that earth of woes, that
heaven of joys, that mixture embroidering this castle; to know for language, is
to know for graces, where allusions stream through sections. It was hazel eyes,
a zero waist, as gazelles lingered in space; to catch for hearts, this daily
struggle, to share immortalities: this
selfish heart, approved as royal, to closet so many regrets. It comes with
flame, this chant to heart, as flutes take upon infinity. I dance as silence, zipping through features, ashamed to
have afflicted souls; as conscience would soar, this place of devotion, at rage
to have sliced our futures: this deep enchantment, where souls are dangerous,
but much too religious to afflict through purpose. I’ve lied a touch, as to
expose a secret, where mother was a pro. It took for anger, to evolve as
softness, as coming into riches; where violets speak, as tulips chant, where
roses imbue our atmospheres. I said a thing, to disturb a heart, but ours is
convoluted dearly; so excuse angst, where love can’t die, while flying through
traffic; this dream of souls, to purchase by pains, this Immortal Realm; as geared towards perfection, cringing our
sacrifices, as to let go unto resurrections.
