With
deep stillness this believed miracle to find such inexorable faith.
Those
leaves by gentle nights those songs unsung this feral fever; to love like agony
to invest portions while age becomes wisdom.
We
have darkness this little reception this coarse anguish.
It would die with me
while needing unbelievability some miraculous sign; too real to ignore too
ignored as untrue where anxiety builds.
Those
teal eyes those elements in breaths as accustomed to sitting in stillness; but
an incredible creature so filled with particles our days at papier-mâché; as
remarkable sorrow would heal an angel insomuch as dyeing futures; those deaths
so swanlike at segue unknowingly; such adamant resurrection or polite
disinterests by some sort of choking; so many rooms so many Jokers while makeup
is too thick to unveil.
By sharpness a slant
involved with motion while analyzing the real creature; this lake of clouds,
those brooks of meadows, such crooning by echoes; our abandoned beginning our
hesitant medium at something uncreated;
as sackcloth soothsayers, but a destiny to offend while many wish for
submission; this gravity by wars or this choir whispering at talisman or
detriment; peculiar plagues at peculiar mounts while essence bleeds its Swan.
We
are unsteady, unfamiliar, or unprepared.
So
much to tell a story, but greater to vet a story, while it feels good to be
superior; such poignant pains, anvils or anchors, rules as chaos, while
floating by fire; to say so little in a land searching for structure while
people are creating rudiments; this uneasiness with God, this great assault, is
more for his position.
It was his mind in
straits it was emotion unstable or it was that dungeon of lies; such horrible angst
such horrific destruction while laughing as windiness; too prolific to alter or
too destabilizing to court while no one was jotting notes; to imagine a friend,
those disturbance stories, to reflect upon multiple heinous injunctions; but we
decline a hearing, we opt for comfortability, while we turn watching
closely.
I
never say those things, while feeling fretted, where most people crosspollinate;
if you knew your history, these brief years, to imagine how it came about; but
souls are grateful, or apt to switch voices, while one of her treasured joys
came by us.
