We
mistaken love, or expect too much, while suffocating love; this pace of
features, as morbid to winds, while growling our demands. I see a swan,
stumbling breaths, that seventh sense; as more to lights, this yogic enchant,
at faces painting futures; that secret digest, at riddles with vengeance, at
curriculum with pliers: (so strengthened a force, peering at madness, those
plights unaddressed; as if afloat by depths, at turquoise skies, tugging at
goddesses; to evolve rapidly, our child a young woman, to harbor those shoji
screens; where perfect perished, as sensing humans, at wars to conjure
teal-blue; that bubble bursting; that acid pouring; our pavements fraught with
images; to censor life, or ingest mishaps, a bit of both at functions). I love
a swan, as grinning at days, while aflame this chest-war: if thought to win, we
first retreat, where thoughts settle into complacencies: our cordial greetings,
while deep at hells, afforded that second to heal. (I heard a whisper, that
flicker of cadence, at trance that deep concentration; as ablaze a fire,
seeping into life, at passions a young swan; that rich controversy, that
internal vineyard—our harvest flushed with souls; where something screams, as
careful a thought, while amazing mirrors; to ask appearance, at structure with
sights, this internal heartcave). I see a swan, fevered to succeed, a bit
unheard a bit unspoken. It comes with life, agaze as flying, responsible for a
series of souls: so young a soul-sky; as cleaving convictions; while torn a
notch this vestibule of grayness: if life is gentle, as rarely a notion, ours
shall flourish aflame: that need to think; that rush to see; that orchestra of
facts; indeed, we can’t escape, this rupture of truths, where aches become
rivers; as more afloat, at reach that eagle, at eyes with passions afire. I
felt a swan, in depth a cave, where genealogy captured its roots; as born to
sing, or incarnated to heal, as one a seraphic swan: to live with secrets, as
saving of faces, while pleading for wisdom: if but to aid, our wearisome souls,
while afflux this title of overseer; or shun the title, while abrasive with
concerns, at wars with love: or seek for balance, this fire of minds, alive by
wits.
