You would see in it—danger, when it appears; knowing
in savior—price of locality—enduring until it might pass. Another smiles. You
hurt her heart. Another mourns. So situated to live, if promised to leave, with
pain seeming terrestrial; sure framed in agonies, or human fires, given one
last chance to waltz and shy away, with pagan powers mixed with the root. A
branch inside, leaves trimmed, confused about thought and recklessness; some
hectic channel, forced to appreciate another person, wondering about silence,
as it manifests. Some extreme level; calling back all-ness of excellence,
hoping one never let’s go; by feral analogy, close to edges, mingling with a
spirit—as it would sacrifice itself; exclusive rights, opening realities, to
see how mysteries are formed. A spirit will blossom war, go through perfection
from birth to galaxy; to see you smile, to feel romance, accused of going into
darker spheres; sure cadence in you, certain defeat in us, to climb up and
gallop with chimes and winds. 9-11, if to know depths, so much lost, so little
to covet. You exhibit misery made beautiful. You tap into religiosity. You are
challenge, gusts, pain, vengeance and solace of thought, pushing passed
consequence.
