It
isn’t gentle, our mental routine, realized in certain seconds: our casual
responses, our casual insistence, where realities conflict with perceptions:
our beautiful lives, our adorable fortunes, while space appears crowded: existential
perfumes, pragmatic answers, or something feeling disconnected: this aged old
chasm, this religious atmosphere, where souls long for completion: at ready
outfits, our readied brains, where actions seem inconsistent: but life is a
greater good, so fixed in habits, yet so unpredictable: our volatile
environment, our easy malaise, as casual creatures tapped into existence: this
socket winking, those sparks internal, while too much knowledge becomes
cynical: our daily choices, distinguished as choices, while one desires
something beyond thoughts: our moments with numen, our arranged minds, while
designing our lives: this knitted reality, those crocheted meanings, while
weaving frantically.
Those
years were gentle, a bit chaotic, a bit uncultured: those familiar habits, our
first introduction, where one doesn’t see mirages: those illusions, so precious
to me, while normality must be our routine: at dynamite contention, pointing at
something unfamiliar, while estranged from gentility: our thumping hearts, our
inner magic, our cliff-hook insistence: if but a vitamin, if but a mystic, if
but a dream: our days with conjecture, our parties with glee, as we return to
our stations: at sensual seconds, disappearing in time, but awakened sensing
familiarity.
…we
cleave to people, existing in familiarity, most so close to deliberateness:
needing something independent of self, something increasing joy, something
insistently sacred: our motion in tears, so filled with coy, while needless of
our persistence: at terrible awesomeness, at horrifying awe, our minds left
with trembling: so determined to ignite fuses, so intrusive to notice more,
where something requires pure electricity: unmatched faces, even imbuing
children, while existence becomes deliberate: at deep concern, or deeper
uneasiness, desiring particular experiences: or settled into participation,
estranged from something numen, while encountering unexplainable phenomenon:
dragged inwardly, decoding its vehicle, a bit sound and free….
…we
seem conditioned, our participation extraordinary, while some are giving faith:
our humanist’s debate, our lives becoming our choices, while experience
contradicts our knowledge: so steeped in mire, so concerned about love ones, or
cynical believers: inducing whirlwinds, rebuilding energy-castles, while
stumbling into esoteria: our minds needing answers, our chase becoming
obsessive, so indebted to forerunners: at heavier debates, but finding comfort,
where familiarity often resuscitates: at unfamiliar seconds, spacial designs,
feeling encapsulated by time: adrift an instance, reborn by experience, at
something winking internally….
