rubber bullets,
metallic vests, hard to remain, as something unseen. harder to make soup, built
in humility, the soul chases itself. a tendency made opposite, so invested, it
becomes inversion. silent days, opalescent nights, a bucolic region. trees on
high. leaves like life—so brief, so quick, against a fence. framed in essence,
a gift in blessings, moving with a sluggish urge. if to feel like others, if to
experience others, it might be heavy.
sunshine for kids,
corruption for others, or whatever is made by soul.
what have we—more
experience—less facts?
life inside, different
than mediocrity, many upset over energy and perceptions; shot a blessing,
received a blessing, prayed, went low, devotional atmosphere.
I do it in Christ,
others in something different, I inherited it from family. many are powerful,
owning skills, quick to evoke healing. the skies are foreign, the faces of
spirits, trying to build for the orphans. rereading, studying closer, reaping
where it was first missed.
many move madness,
sunk in air, floating at times. the march in waves, pushing through graves, a
slave of something inherent.
trying to get
closer, to pure soul, so much a moving miracle—listening to science, aching in
response, trying to figure out a solution.
more inherited,
claiming individuality, fretting complication.
by a compulsion to
unchain, by the wealth of souls, reknitting, trying for a perfect quilt.
