So,
we exclaim needs, for mere our strangers, this mystic enterprise—where souls
perish, as to derive a storm, flavored by new acquaintances. I loved a feeling,
as forgetting about humans, while moved through parallels: that mystic fever,
as acclaimed by experience, while meeting souls stronger than self: that shadow
of love; that golden cross; our trinkets pointing at participation: if but to
live, associated chaos, this person by myriads of characters; to die forever,
as lived our minds, this immortal fortress. I know a spirit, as confused by
spirits, while to wonder of pure intentions: such by altruism, or more this
need, while filtered through doctrines—to explain feelings, as speaking of
permanence, while nudged to believe as askew: our mystic waves, by furious
acclaim, revved for days while fasting; to catch our eyes, rolling through
pyramids, at that second a blind force. (I must address you, this wonderful
song, while sensing new strengths; this place of dungeons, this man of
intuitions, while gravid a storm of flames; to come to gentleness, aflame by
daughters, while attempting to fathom mothers. I’m lost to seas, flipping with
flipper, where whales nigh for guidance; but more to clarity, this woman a
myth, while seen by few; or more that psych, as never a word, and carrying such
dreaded truths; to see your face, as personas linger, that shift of eyes as
thought through experience; to denote a mystic, or even a mystery, while seated
at yogi empires. I’m caught in rapture, seated in silence, at needs to
heal—that inner echo, infused by knowledge, as accessioned to drift through
violence; that inner chant, those mystic bars, this thing by arriving
closely—that measure of cadence, to sense more than shoulders, while flinging
around that face of essence: our steep inclinations, as fumbling fatherhood,
while reported as one a bit to innocence; but more to you, this well of
enchantments, too evolved to be tugged afar: that cryptic thump; that chi to
lives, that something coming with effort: this grace by works; our anchors
uprooted; this floating sensation; where minds ponder, this lot of echoes,
sipping for nurtured by pure indecision; as less to dissention, and more to
evaluation, while remembering this greatness in souls). I saw an entity, as
positioned to retreat, while coaxed into accepting dangerous souls; that place
we dwell, while seeking comforts, our music a bit conceited; where mothers
grind, as fathers live, this essence of perfecting homes; in much our lives, as
dearly esoteric, at points losing sight of divinity. I’m feeling feelings, as,
too, emotions, flavored by this precedent called reason; as maybe too much, or never enough, transported through
persons. (She searches for errors, while fortifying loopholes, afraid that one
may become a tyrant: that cold emperor; that cultist’s empire; that voice
echoing through millennia: if but to climb, our essence to droves, while
becoming that very overseer; where tides are lethal, as songs are crucial, that
moment in time to offset infinity. We carry this secret, as souls diseased,
where authors are want to designate this force: this keen agreement, while
shadowed in facts, that woman’s memoirs outlining destinies: if but to reach,
where music in grim, our souls permeated with silence: this force of woes, as
searching by voice, that other woman retreating. It comes with time, this
furious chase, to arrive in segments; where daughters witness, this war of
souls, at flux, by becoming a tear indebted.
