Sunday, February 12, 2017

Powers to Fashion

By far this grace, at pace with saints, steering energies; to become this man, at woes with mercy, as unable to repay it; this gracile swan, this powerful cygnet, this patient psych; to come to terms, this inner mystic, chiming with celestial fires.  I loved a vision, as assuming attributes, as to love his brains. I must explain.  Often we see projection, as wanting this person, where unsaid person is but a figment; to meet by arts, to love by deaths, to lose a fragment of sanity.  I’m watching tears, forming riddles, as awaiting that devotion; to pour it out, a bit too sober, as clear as sky-glass: Was life so gentle, those travesties, as becoming some sort of person; this vast delay, as to aside our lives, courted for feeling those flaming nuances.  I treasure this soul, this infant through hooks, as claiming this dysfunction; those terrible groans, that need for cigars, this heart at beats with myriads; this mystic manic, sealed but forgiven, while searching this faceless legacy: our silent souls, as sudden a sentence, that facial spirit; to adventure love, this wonderful human, as to ask for commitments.  I, too, am concerned—this woman with child, as carrying those dreadful closets; to share with no man, as needing redemption, to find such with unbelief.  It takes for purpose, this thing of letters, to realize our human worth; this tear by vice, this vice by angst, this wind by Sartre as capital nothingness; to break a curse, while dispositions linger, as to push passed this inner despair; where thoughts are sluggish, our slaughter is fast, and life courses through demonic waves; to touch a soul, with anger required, to refuse to perish by chance; this outer man, seeking this outer woman, as two embark upon that voyage; but more to love, this figment as human, to befriend by life this vest; that ringing bell, that wringing soul, those rings at movies to symbol life.  It could be real, as more invisible, for one to outwit self; this horrible thing, where arts begin, as trying to explain beyond our measures: that fabulous wind, as searching our nostrils, where something appears with vengeance; to sit it out, as to soon return, threshed through logic that event.  I feel a swan, as more an eagle, musing those pages of music. I feel a heart, as advanced fully, reading as to see that mirror; this plight of souls, our family secrets—our woes as creating chaos; to sing a dirge, lamenting life, as sudden to adore existence.     

PS.

    The strength to withstand the winds; a spell as it effects/affects some creature. A sudden moment filled with absolute certainty, so wro...