"who
can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?"
Kahlil Gibran
so much the rain such
droplets by horrific honesty. she might flame in silence to have misty shadows
unto an arrogant man: such inly whirls or cirrus dynasties while we deteriorate. to palm iris or lunarias or sit low near
nemesias. if sullen we smile, if happy we get aloof, if but to hold destiny so
rare; by partial sunlight or umbra habits while so attracted it happens as
day-fire. I never departed where
anguish is treasured while I walk with rain; so, regrets are otherness, other
creatures, by which I mustn’t submit. those virescent eyes those flimsy
vestures so troublous by pure travail; to have such toil or unveiled wrestling
with those vigils as watched, dissected, soon abandoned. if so many attached we
palm forgiveness insomuch as we deserve our habits. by blue vestals so plush or polished or
more of what we admire or adhere to; such incredible dying for penance was in
vogue or ebony was cherished discreetly. to grapple with ink or believe by
mystery where so much was exploited. but a man to his cave is a discredited
soul for one must distribute privacies those as languishing such an unround-sea
as eyes bent the feared horizon. by awesome cadence to have become a beacon
while anti-prestige. by aloneness to sense core-self where as such to speak
clearly: such penalty, such magic, while arcane hell hurts its guts.
