Today We Feel, as if Transported through Thoughts

I feel us, Love, to designate terms, while something’s afoot. I, too, feel others, as if winds are meshing, to form fireballs, while pierced to science, as influenced by religion: this welkin glare, this flare of souls, this brook seated by mothers; where heaven gazes, aloft as intrusions, while guiding consciousness. We center in pieces, sectioned by love-burns, fleeing into travesties; as rendered our thoughts, this treble effect, those ripples cleaving to brains. (I’ll share a secret—this thing about souls, while unlocked through friction: that cold winter; that humid summer; this push through travesty as success; where arts are tentacles, as pain is fuel, as not to justify present contentions. It comes by grace—this word as velocity, our buoyancies as pillars; as born to shadows, roaming foreign lands, at cores searching for a place called home; but here’s a secret, home is heart—that ferocious vehicle—as said a riddle, by means to know us, at woes to see us). We linger in thoughts; we pillage sensations; we voice our cadence to winds—if but that arc, as losing to gain, at features but normal this chase. We see confliction, as to wander through principles, while words seem to lose texture: this fabulous voyage, as curved by perception, to compose as one lost to madness: this furious swan, at measures a genius, floored through fires this feral archery. I feel souls, this wave of thoughts, as temperaments shifts cadence; to sudden overcast, as more our hearts, this blend through minds; but truth lives, as more this ache, where souls create legacies. I run a risk—this thing of thoughts, while passions run at zenith: this torn effect, as deep affection, while at lose to realize core intentions: this deep challenge, as cultured by psychologists, as fevered through therapies; but this is pleated, this interior journey, while souls are resurrecting. It takes for dying, to have that wealth, where ours is constant resurrection; as born to pillars, this resting upon differences, while seated at mothers of wisdom; to ask for lights, while trebling through dynasties, to live by memories: this place of insights, to see with accuracies, this level of existence: to know by faith, or to render through science, our brains rushing through dominions. I see a swan; I feel a psych; I ache a mystic—but this is life, as mother churns, afforded this error in life. It comes by fate, if one is to believe—in such a word that robs us of control; to soon surrender, as working directions, this full participation; so smile eternal, at love this function, by grace those wings floating through kingdoms.