Opinions, for humans, vacillate, they show curses,
they grow with indecision; a mind must be stubborn, to hold to indifference,
one displaying multiple characteristics. It becomes difficult to ascertain
differences, to love a person regardless, with humans seeming one-sighted; a
fire in its order, a flame with its spark, a person with indiscretions; so far
into wilderness, leaf blowers, filters meaning little, to have life in redundancy—some
existential plight, with persons changing rapidly, to hold to an event ten
years in passing; while never kegging, unless, Above, one petitions science—in
essence, what hurts him most. (On
another topic.) It becomes apparent
at moments, reaching her heart, to have decency in pretend; the fear is
necessary, in order to function, with another, the fear is an adversary; to
have died in me, with so many at the elixir, fueled for flame and frightened to
resume life; a famed genius, an inner failure, a product of chasing and dining,
if but to sing in an auditorium. So much rain, the reign of winter, with autumn
so auburn, the tides are rushing inland. Deciduous love. Incomplete thoughts.
Much making sense to the stakeholders. A film in Russian. An interior in Dutch.
A revelation in Jewish arcs. To roam Africa, with pain in treatise, so much
needing in the persons we refuse. To know in part, an art for understanding, to
hate at nectar, the flame of the essence; Yahweh as a negotiation, needed as a solution,
where thoughts challenge answers; as taught to assert, with radical doubt, most
of responses are, at root, pantomime. Experience is a ventriloquist—an echo,
filled with matter-of-fact audacity. In fair weather, she appears, caressing
invisibility—a soul is desire for unreasonable forest. Anything beautiful
suffers. Anything in-between guesses. Anything bitter, for a lonely spirit, is
found with pleasure, and excuses.
