Immortal Fire (While We Examine Something Barred)

I broke lights, as to shatter windows, this possession afar that curse; at birth a scar, our father’s immortals, as names carry currents; that psych wheezing, as afar those miles, too skinny that fasting life; or arcs to discipline, as arts to bones, a fever embedded in psychiatry; that crying wisdom, as employed behaviorism, or torn that psychotherapy; while mystics mourn, as at tales by yogis, while two become engraved—that science of pails, afar a scar that bled, while sorting through pumpkin seeds: as told his life, by never a shadow, our psychologies a bit morbid: that flying swan, as sung a chorus, while reading bedtime allegories: that bleeding bible; those scathes by scythes; that sickle to sores that excavation; as, nevertheless, this inner wrestling, to find by current that deep disgust; where mothers scurry, as evading discourse, as not to utter vapid affections: that chime of life, while sipping prune juice, a tare so constipated by facts; that immortal flush, as again to birth, at fires that exclusive dance: that pruning device, as affective those nouns, too cold this season to speak to cygnets; as accursed a scar, this florid infinity, while partaking of one that explodes a universe: that cryptic art, as seated where it showers, while another, drags a cigar: that lethal lance, while sipping displeasures, as touched a dream by seclusion; to see that face, as seated that stranger, while we evince to self that deep function: our souls to flying; our hearts to dungeons; as becoming a tare too shady; where cygnets cry, as psychs evaluate, while an overseer instructs a colony; as times to pass, or days to evaporate, while mornings scream affections; that distant dance, as merely a thump, while seeping into prose. [(We’ve come to conquer, at some segment of existence, while remaining humble. We’ve come for terror, that inveterate pilgrim, as associated those tales inside; insofar, a curse, to love beyond capture, as to die a theologian; while yearning deeply, that scathe of ethics, at morals beyond Nietzsche’s fragrance; that turn for rightness, while flooded a storm, as to maintain afar that scar that bled; to love regardless, this curing insanity, while possessed this fuse streaming within; that candent fire, as a lambent torch, if but to stations screaming affections; that long life, our daughters oblivious, while grandparents nod as dying softly: this place of fools, as foolish but crimes, to die a fool loving inside)]. I’m sensing Brimhall, our immortal Sophia, as dancing to Zeus’ bolts; this space dejected, as screaming that name, to come to terms alone by closets; that achy faith, at wars with nonsense, to agree that something churns; this fever in souls, this drive by woes, our endeavors to outwit this immortal message; to ballet an orchestra, while fettled a scar, as born to live that cagey star; for mother was right, as father would live, this sophic soul learning from kids: (to come to lights, a peer of academia, afar a curse to touch that ache; as pulling apart, this thing of souls, while one wishes to conquer brains). I’ve ached conveyance, as floored for purpose, at membrance that first introduction; as far so many, this lot of knowing, this effect by psychotic veins; as more to lights, to love by aura, while to retreat prior to confusion; that immortal wit, as immortal grit, to think by parts a royal kit. I’m haunted by names, as seeing affections, while wanting more than his share; for this is love, to favor features, while psychoses remains immortal; that beautiful crown, to live that life, as falling to love that immortal strife; this cadence of jewels, as abused but loved, afar a curse that tender dove; where beauty resides, as far those waves, while we love as immortal graves—that communion light, if receiving is essence, while all to justice our unjust confessions.