I
tread this valley, peering at eagles, racing from self to features: our
cultured arcs, our reminiscent hearts, so pulled by shadows: so baptized, so ritualized,
carved and given light: a talkative woodpile, so desperate to become human, so
many tales by falcons: running in place, spacial with concerns, and laughed at
for ruins: thoughts glamorized, or slightly a whisper, and critical
devastation: this unwelcomed feeling, so out of churns, and lacking data. I realize structure, after senses went
haywire, a palm of pills, a glass of orange juice, and one day at moments: to
suffer mortality, or to live immortally, captured by interior glasses: so deep
in memory, to restore such plight, while distant due to trauma: our days dim,
our realities slanted, but everso equipped: our nervous existence, our aging
minds, so keen, so icy, so restricted: if but unsung, if but reestablished, if
but redeemed: such gentle shards, such ghosts and dragons, as giving life where
such may seem rejected: our core realities, our mental chase, unthreaded and
probed by existence: those rabid instincts, to re-select a feeling, while
believing in justice: to leave so much dangling, while unraveled and trekking,
where too much loosens linchpins.
It
was mercy, this Father, this keen sense of accountability: such as college
life, such as old professors, such as composing dreams: so much counseling, so
many appearances, and so much beyond our station: such spiritual channels, such
redeemed insistence, while never fully free: winning by loses, or losing
everything, our nights but gentle havoc: reading in dungeons, rebuked for
sickness, re-threaded with an imbalance: traveling silence, when silence is
gentle, while wrestling with human faith: those old feelings, this trenchant
phantasm, or existence restricted by neutrality: so many disappointments, so
much false freedom, our minds ruined by realities: this course with
frustration, our expectations worse than reality, or sensed for stations that
prove disenchantments: as gavels slam, as senses thrust, at something seeming
like remorse: such cadence, such old values, while right thinking becomes
adversarial: indeed, so harsh to dream, so resonant to insist, where actions
are studied according to habits.
We
become trained, walking our guillotines, spinning our cauldrons: invested in
actions, redeemed in faith, searching for those Promises: our tetras existence,
this tetras land, at life and roses and born to exist—as furious creatures,
learning behaviors, a bit confused by parents: this deep phantom, this torn
enterprise, to have come a great distance: but life is changes, and life is
rearranged, where goodness becomes
something to evaluate: our agape agendas,
our fallen Pastors, our redeemed Theologians: this man with passion, as died so
early, where members sense a deep lose: in brains negotiating, in bodies
resurfacing, where reality seems to contradict intention: our feudal existence,
our fast-foods, at something too close to ensure: those rosy apples, this rosy
path, while freedom appears indifferent.
I lose life, I die
life, I live as embedded in life: our warm pulses, our dreary realities, so
accustomed to various philosophies: at welts and wagons, at darkness and
lights, so fueled but sensing freedom’s weariness: our frantic minds, at
frantic realities, threshed by frantic tales: such deep resistance, this tale
as told, where warriors scream at walls: this purgatorial visit, this purgatorial
valley, at deep bass as trumpets resound: our years fading, our souls debating,
our eyes negotiating intentionality: if but to fly, if but to sing, our dreams
return us to valleys: so deeply abused, so lost to existence, while listening
to something whispering: our maneuvered hearts, our indwelling spirits, where
we realize a particular value: such sophisticated devices, to stand so afar,
where rivers thrust and thrash and tremor: our last miracle, our first
entrance, debating something exegetical.
