we cannot let go, the chase is
rewarding, fingers lodged in mire. we must let go, but it hurts so good, we
desire the rejuvenation. such fair dislike, a ruling planet, the future
rejoices.
if to read a feeling, differs from
hearing a feeling, one might want to hide in plain sight. to flirt with scales,
to balance life as a tease, or seductress, to advance and retreat—the music
gets easier.
the waltz is with pain, failures,
fears, and anxieties. some whirlpool, so resistant in time, like a millipede in
sand. the unfair lance, thrown into the wilderness, with little to notify us.
so many famed and hurting, writing
and gathering, we never knew the extent of their misery. as a soul bleeding
architecture, to have built instability, with remorse trailing a centimeter
behind me.
to harness the best, culling out
the worse, to see a piece of self; or undisciplined, seeping quickly, to notice
the self is injured. so much agony, so sensuous, to hate what we trust.
a soul worked on a project for
years, he revealed his mistakes, when he got good at it, many wouldn’t forget
his errors—they’d prefer place pegs in his growth. a lady knew he was zealous—for
arts, philosophy, and poetry; she interlocked his senses, driving his
unconscious mind. they never speak – the riddle is deliberate – they motivate
each other.
another is a chameleon—pulled by
seas and winds and pushed by premeditation. a conglomerate of feelings, a
movement of emotions, hurting for reasons—maybe shared with the interior lobby,
those few proving worthy, where many of us describe worthy as having an
impeccable receptivity; so easy to be a certain way—the higher up the ranks—the
easier it is to deceive; while some are relentless, they take it at face value,
putting little into the asphalt of the value. if it's genuine, then so be it,
if not, it’s not a grave injustice. this might prove a lonely road. some
protectant element, trying to outwit the agony, trying to preempt the outcome.
some semblance of control! some deceptive device. so clear, we might wonder
about its riddles.
some are masters at transforming
energies: yogis, shamans, some mystics, religious folks, and those that believe
in naturalism. it becomes difficult to believe in one specializing at becoming
your judge and jury – your redeeming savior – and the one punishing you in
spirit. the question is obvious: What gauge is such a person working with?
axioms are being challenged. many
facets are being inverted. more in place, sanity is ever up for excitement. the
maze of good perception, able to discern what to utter, versus what to write,
with deeper concerns about what to withhold.
many maxims are in space. they don’t
quite fit. but we abide by them. it feels illogical. it works on an in-depth
level. the fear is becoming unreasonable.
