was
it existence, so extinct with breath, to shun those covert messages? as life
meant worshiping into cold cave nights while I heard it in a still small voice.
by lose or dungeon by cloak or gown while naked by seraphim. to die forever
where we see cries while mind-matter stippled the walls. was it actual fire, or
trenchant metaphor fire, or so delirious it must be examined? in this world of
skeptics this prize against religion while we can’t take more dark ages. such
aesthetics such devastation while we focused upon a little baby. to imagine
power such as given indeed to engulf such conception. those straws back
then this need for mortar so many arts before our time. penchants by patience
if but to arise while Love is complete distraction. —to what was unsaid those
phantom tears or liquefied with offspring. to see humans as we have beliefs
where seduction becomes the orator. I know a damsel, so cynic so raw, as to
shred ideals into paper mâché—such unreasonable venom or a passive
disenchantment while time was sweet the nectar of forgiveness. those bleeding
hostilities, those years devoted to candle-lights to reach so far in and hear, Namaste! at
sore survival, trying to scrape our phantasms, while encountering
inscrutability. something depending upon brain-stuff, our metaphysics, while admitting
(I don’t care if it’s real)!
