Their
lives agony, such rich traumas, as explained seasonal bruises; to laugh by
dramas, those steady shakes, at liquor with vengeance; or tears accursed, that
silent anathema, that churchly hex—as sewn in pillages, a pirate at seas, a
seamstress at lives: if once to live, as thrice to perish—strangers unraveled!
In retrospection, we ignored our diamonds, this wretched adventure—while
ignored at thoughts, that fleshly infraction, at opera’s theater; to sin by
violence, this unphysical life, to scar a soul such negligence; this intimate
curse, as sung through terrors, to pull us near; as ruined, by far, forsaken’d,
while destiny laughs hysterically: that moving vessel, from person to soul, at
horrors to live gracefully. Words are sparse, where swans are crucial, as we
never see—that hectic sunshine, those Asian eyes that hex as mourned this life;
while children fawn, as seeing perfection, that feeling by culture, as payoff;
at such abandon, that fabled illusion, to cross by turns that chalkboard: by
critical thoughts; those laws of reason; where
humans first appeared; as realized sadness, at blessings to feel torn, while
religion becomes an island. Escape is laughter, our bodies to stress, as never
acknowledged—appearing as rites, to scar a soul, where brooks to shadows this
sight of hysteria: that devilish grin, as searching for chaos, while living at
fears—that stadium affair, as cursed a jewel, to arrive by chance that pulpit;
where daughters writhe, at intimate truths, that feeling of nausea as arts;
that troubled nothingness, those
years to havoc, as confessed an error of lights; as face to rug, or tears to
ice-picks, those words devoid of historical cache; afforded a sickle, imbued
with violence, at treasures to feel such exhaustion; as scolding father, for
unseemly thoughts, that world once so perfect: that flight by secrets; those
ignored tales; that colony of victims; as to hell with men, this pursuit of
children, where catastrophes appear appropriate—as threshing brooks, asearch
for gems, while deer run frantically; as piercing, through sky-scrapes, this
apish insanity: infused with dreams, those awkward conversations, while a psych
taps into trauma; of course, by random address, as appearing haphazard, while
explained with precision. It becomes a legacy, this fuel of feral fires, while
never held accountable: that faraway scream; those alley cries; that furious
grandfather—as losing sight, as not our little girl, while grandmother sits
agaze’d: this rift in time, as purely one-sighted, where only one soul is at
faults; this make-believe, those multiple checkmates, those parlors resonating
that exact name; where souls anger, as said a jewel, as mistaken by men: that
sanded tale, as sung afar, where negligence takes refuge.
