When
lights fade, as such is damage, grip for dear life—that oaken emotion, those
lissome cries, while embedded such mystery—to deer by eyes, as lived such sin,
at graces to greet death; thereto, that dreaded well, by sagic thunder, at
texture the wit of jackals; insomuch, a living soul, racing by heart-quilts;
thereat, a terrible feeling, by wretched flights, tucked for falling gripping
guts: that beautiful opera, as lived our lives, by gravity seething our hopes;
wherewith, such horrific sin, composed of passivity, asking that we love
trust—this deep allegro, at tempers
with shadows, wrestling but self-regulated; as paddling by fens, or trekking by
paws, our avenues merging at pains; this sore address, as to voice by futures,
this cave of cubs; hereby, a tender ache, where our swan wipes the canvas—as
painting frantically, gripped by such imperative—as lived a soul, fraught by mesto, at temperaments such symphony—as mother breathes, that piano
kef, afar a dream unraveled—to witness life, writhing by freedoms, adjusted by
lights: that patient queen; an impatient scream; this embodied paradox; as
castled hells, by fleeting joys, admeasured by increments; that sad dirge, this
dearth of permanence, this insistence on cessation; as sore to life, this
kleptomaniac, robbing by interior functions; as to live grace, that type of
predicament, challenged to maintain dignity: that tiptoeing voice; that Asian
advice; this trek by vines a bit solitary; insomuch, as interior, this private
space, prior to leaking into public squares: We must to live, our heads to
sky-dreams, as pierced by restrictions; as father sinned, to perish his life,
studied by trained advisors; albeit, life, infused by deaths, we master a certain
penalty: that utopic mind; that smelted sadness; those euphonic promises; as
blessed to exist, a churn existential, while cleaving to pragmatic values: such
is life, our contradictions, our paradigms a bit unstudied; to claim with
vengeance, a given position, as minds change in an instance; or life to hells,
cleaving for dear light, a grievous supposition; wherewith, an arrogant gait,
while shunning experts, as tornadoes rupture kidneys; thereto, this rich
insanity, unaware of spectators, at wonders that deep chasm. When ransom falls, that eclectic lamp, I’ll
give us winds—to soar by flitting, afar our eclipse, filled by rivers: that
hectic fever; those Persian roses; our seams by fabrics our hearts—as living
graces, despite haunted houses, to wrestle as if knowing normality; as,
nonetheless, this insidious chase, at pace with insecurities, as opposed to
life: that amalgam of truths; our psychologies rifting souls; our admirations
as enrichments—to circle mountains, as screaming to mountains, our febrile
traumas; wherewith, are scars, as traveling deserts, peering afar an oasis;
that transcension; that resurrection; this inner aspiration—as quarantined with
Love, that swanic guru, that religious virtue; as an outer galaxy, or an inner
cosmos, this blend of tempos; as sanctums mourn, if but to fly, our tectonic
spirits; insofar, as life, this splitting of parts, living out our trilogies;
to winnow souls, or garner rites, aflame a gravid feeling; whereat, are
pleasures, this relieving of pains, our hearts as sunshine!
