Friday, February 3, 2017
Birds towards Radiance
We capture moods, shifting through songs, while tender our ambitions; to
chisel sunlight, or harvest sunbeams, that richer for receiving rain; this
kingdom of cellos, this chorus of rainbows—our hearts beating, Eternity; this lever as love, sought by
sages, at tears to render placeboes—or more that charm, to sift out pains,
while centered in effusions—this pouring into,
that violin of souls, as scooting turmoil aside. It rages clearly, this
vest of needles, as tortured to forgive; this double five, to strike a ten, as
landing on double twos; to cry by fires, this needed ritual, as rinsing those
muddy woes; to see a light, this heart of powers, as arising to sing a cadent
psalm; that terrible compassion, while shadowed in tension, to render this sad
enlightenment—or more pianos, in tune with trombones, as our minds become a
symphony. It felt good to live, at peace
with joy, before actions became splinters. It felt good to run, chasing after
canines, or riding mini-motorcycles. It felt good to dance, this belle of
hearts—that kiss so much for passions; as living immortal, by handheld candles, intrigued by this spiritual ideal; to
read of King, or to watch Gandhi, as
tears this era a soothing enchantment; as years to blossom, forming databanks,
affected by this tour of chaos; to love regardless, our unselfish souls, a bit
for selfish for needing love; this faraway dream, our rubric a tad crooked—this
streaming of nightmares; as singing as scriptures, repeating our history, lost
in Ecclesiastes: this time for pausing—adrift
our sorrows, proud to hold this sacred psalm.
I palmed a leggier, to feel infusions, as adrift this brilliant sorrow;
to grow by chance, as peering correctly, at lose this gain as sinning; to
repent by measures, as affected by life, where neither love nor friend can
plant our rose. It takes for arts, this inner sensei, attuned with that candent
spirit; to flee from mire, as embracing gold, while appreciating that lost
mire; this effusion of fires, as cave to soul, at warmth this subtle blossom.
Strumming a Harp
By language we speak to audibility and coherence. To compose to feel understood, in spite of language applied. A person spends years misunde...
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It took anxiety to utter affection; soundness by decision, to wander into a soul, to knit excellence; vow of one heart, love as cushion, e...