Oh for darker essence, interior
pets and animals, charms and winds; so deliberate the walk, glancing on a rare
mountain, climbing and seafaring; the way it began, pride aside excellence,
paradox and sin. The way it endues, the wilderness minx, a soul is pained and
pleasured; indebted to anguish, an existential cymbal, by symphony to have
adored those cries; most stressed to have been, most troubled to be, with
devastation approaching what becomes: arts dying, paints with little reason,
souls asking for clarity—math of movement, seclusion so near, losing social
skills, a place in time—where everything feels out of space. So imbued by
thoughts, filled with mystic lure, advanced at loving from afar—by ache in
flesh, to see in determination, one dying to exist, to live; presumed as
supposition, debating mirrors, most deceived by innocence.
