…tender
blue skies, our souls to life, our minds to stars: as lost and becoming, or
settled for passion, remote and uneven: those silver clouds, our foggy
airwaves, at measures so gone it hurts: this inner bout, those mental parties, our
days with terrors: to climb gently, while looking downward, to tremble at
mid-step: at marvelous winds, those valleys so near, our courage increasing:
that dear tribunal, this land of trespassers, those terrific fears: such
glitter such light, abandoned to undeveloped interpretation….
…our
waiting hours, to give our demands, or to awaken mid-sentence: such galloping
pride, such scorching fever, our whereabouts unknown: to drift with silence, to
barely summons, while forced to speak: our justification, our pleasant relief,
at shadows boxing our interior: such feral cries, such mythic articulation, at wilderness
sudden into our cities….
I
see hillsides, I hear prophecy; I’m waning forward: this dream, this curse, and
such accountability: our breezy trees, our noisy twigs, our settee branches: to
exist as one sleeping, this web of excitement, and seemingly marooned: those
distant islands, our distant thoughts, at figures in pure lightning: seated and
lost, getting closer afar, debating our message.
…we reappear as thunder, those city lights,
those zooming cars: horns blazing, tires screeching, fuels and gases wafting:
our miracle souls, our redeemed lives, our tragic confessions: at waves and
vanishing, at torn rehabilitation, while closed off enough to remain holy: our
pastors and deacons, our priests and bishops, at something seeming chaotic:
those bags of marbles, our steep imbalance, or perfected at something becoming
foreign: that private prize, that private legacy, our private concerns: plucking
a marigold, or watering daisies, as lost in dreams: those changeable flowers, those praying
mantis, or such resemblance to fates….
…it
measures softly, our apologetics, or those perfect attributes: those other
parents, those grade-school teachers, our redeemed essence: while trekking
uphill, to return to square one, or so perfected it becomes nauseating: those
mental fires, those gentle feelings, those riveting visions: to tread deserts,
to live in caves, to face mental manifestations: our hearts thrumming, our
souls to clarinets, our bodies becoming violins: as nowhere fast, as somewhere
quicker, rooted in soil and sediments: to where we scream, to where we dream,
racing through daily tasks….
