When time is unjust, a soul must abide by rules.
Fields of monsters, limited access, many are losing decencies; like innocence
given to sharks, to have been so great, estranged from core values; sour bias,
tendentious pains, rhythm, art, and trauma. One smiles. So far left, right just
isn’t happening. A smirk. A smile. Most thrilled, teased afore mirrors, to have
damaged innocence, if it were there. Most
angered. Chasing takes on properties. “We hate resilience.” So much in advance. Fear takes on its
meaning. One is desperate to administer fear; to bring on inner war. In life, we meet ourselves—the good, the
worst; like neat knitting, seams sealed silently, seamy excellence. Do we adore innocence—Does it remind one
of what he has lost? Topaz eyes. Violet
eyelashes. Turquoise declaration. To adore pieces as adrift upon a petal—the fire
is the war—assailed on the inside; anything bringing joy, has become a terror
to perceive. In excellence, some vile
sky, with negotiation taking place to maintain the course; as a soul looks, it
was far too easy, determined to endure, mountains black with charcoal.
