Immortal Landscapes

Let it be gentle, by humble heartbeats, and seething passions: our mobile adrenaline, our subdued serotonin, or cases of albums our late evening company: those silver agonies, to course through life, and children admitted to colleges: this winter’s struggle, that whistling kettle, our lemon teas: if but abandoned to life, those human rafts, this mind to notice our attachments: at mornings heavy, spacing to restrooms, avowing this or that: those wafting scents, that pile of laundry, or daily rehearsals: as children laugh, and children grin, at feelings unrehearsed.     It was love, this trenchant anguish, those terror flies: such mystery novels, our Roman coffee, and mystic minded maidens: such fair attraction, such screaming wit, at thoughts a quarter century: those years to knitting, that collage of wedding dresses, and those ghostly passions: indeed, while moving anxieties, or chasing futures, we forget to breathe: our laughing harps, our chatty violins, our treasures held to soul: to measure attitude, our children about music, our children about independence: this chase for freedom, to realize boundaries, to exhaust frustration.     I lit a feeling, I paced a nightmare, I’ve returned to silence: this world of demands, our social pianos, our raining resilience: while petting squirrels, as never we should, we find an instinct: our hungry hearts, our cultic wines, and that carefree experience: to hold by dearness, to emote a sudden emotion, our realities riding lightning: moreover, a caricature, this mobile elusiveness, or those few trophies: our stomachs growling, our souls wandering, our memories morphing into sentiments: those rare feelings, our inner manipulation, and songs that speak through symbols: whereto, we languish to Love, we launch a fire, we faint and fumble by life.     In an instance, we shuffle our snow, we unlock our reservoirs—swimming in stillness, gazing afar, feeling such feral imagination: this woman with literature, this mother with insistence, this father with mechanics: our prime existence, our primitive habits, our patient revivals: therewith, are stars, those radiant creatures, as one sits at our table: such worn vibration, such familiar cadence, such restless souls: if but to live, as classified by consensus, while our masses wrestle.     I tell a dream, this casual scream, while strewing something existential: our shimmering horses, our Lassie canines, our Pippi Longstocking curiosity: where summer seems different, while something is near to heart, thitherto, something builds in waves: that newfound emotion, this settling into adulthood, or that mysterious sense of responsibility: our children whispering, our inner phones ringing, as we dare to answer: this man in feelings, this man by logistics, where one analyzes puzzles: those geometric mystics, those algebraic yogis, or further our cores analyzing something acute: this sharp mistake, this weapon formed against us, or this long haul through deserts: to await reality, to shift by tumbleweed, herein, this open wilderness.     It was life’s fire, this running pavement, this immortal pace: our rainbows so far away, our landscapes made with mortar, and our minds roaming through forests: that sylvan of ideas, those classic feelings, or this realization that humans are battling: this wrestle for wits, this tussle for riches, our perceptions rarely challenged: indeed, to sit at wonder, our incessant emotion, as never a thought to our filters: this preacher at madness, to exclaim something redundant, while, nonetheless, we ignore such simplicity: as souls sprinting, and christic Universities, our years to delving into Humanities: as longing noise, that seaward undulation, and our years to missing small realities: if but through numbness, or foggy glasses, it becomes an immortal pressure.     We return to prizes, We dine with emotion, We share our airs by mere our auras: this hammock of rules, this cauldron of sacrifices, plus, those social contracts: to redeem senses, to recapture adolescence, while cleaving to fond memories: this park of experiences, that lake of playfulness, or years to painting our landscapes.