the paradox is unusual. it says opposites
may be true singularly—placed together, they show confliction.
inside a conduit, flowing into seas,
becomes essence, under skies.
most pristine in his eyes, needing such
perception, asking for her hand in marriage.
she wrote a ballad. he wrote like in
return. they are famous.
one may appreciate the process, doubting
his ability, surrendering to application. small ripples, holy ink, hearing as
others deny hearing. he will fight his trial, he will die with glory, the message
will be stifled. another will read closely, picking up truths, she might take
the torch.
as she approached the counter, he said, “You’re
a free spirit.” she knew history, so she replied, “In a way, I guess.” How to
address such a question/statement? he seemed in awe, moved, uncertain. she
mulled over it.
many taste elixir. it’s spoken in media.
many times a man will move forward, debating his conclusion. the sky is
breathing, wonders are yet revealed, most, awakened, desire nothing—the message
is enough.
she gazed afar, in mid-sentence, he didn’t
know what to interpret.
maybe we never determine, some casual
essence, most everything rearranged; some thunderstorm, another sits, waiting,
existence is never like those comforts. instead, a new comfort will enter, in
due time, where it will be unsettled.
many have powers. many watch. silence
seems skilled, among a few.
