The density of diligence, the perfect imperfection,
asking eyes to redeem the radiance. So aloof, so afraid, Love has passion
pegged, pleasures mastered—a true human, a decent friend, with ethics at the
peak of the pride. It should be—as it was, humans have come so far; the breath
of the beat, the behavior of the bandage, the light of love; so afar we grow
closer, so alive we find waves, such is the grace of gravity. Coming to see a
little, it isn’t about eternity, (as it is), more to peace of soul—with another
human being; some atypical myth, too complicated, most are running from mirrors—the
few getting it right—are protecting their inheritance. The soul bends wind—the spirit
braves Descartes’ wax—the soldier beholds the wealth: iron-minded, another
myth-base, while still above the seas—amazed to see angels, so much satire
afar, so close, yearning for comforts. To have felt her aura—to announce it
inside, facing multiple ideologies.
