Turn into vision-light. Ache with fever.
Become pure darkness. The ghost bleeding,
oils leaking, the majesty of one
he couldn’t persuade. I was dead,
listening to Gospels, trying to
become a good person. I met an
image, I heard a sound, I realized
most are better than me. Elements.
Humility. Soft sung serenades. I
was born again. Given to the times. To
feel good, to relax on a summer day,
void of this, angered with this, not too much
sense to make of this. Eyes swell. Hearts wax with
fire. A soul becomes saddened by that. Sol
liaison inside. A person inside.
Not many are aware of the worship
inside. I was naïve. I met a
feeling. She arrived in an omen. The emotion of favor—sought
to amend, hoping I would possess this cure: too much understanding! Indeed,
self-aggrandizing: nay, just speaking a given truth, with many in true rain. I
have a seed. To hear those wires—to demand of the universe, to know for elixir,
cauldron and faces; four steps behind, one step towards dying, to know, as a
fact, we were born headed in one direction, despite anger, despite love,
despite children. Too negative. Not so! the good of the human—the dream of the
beauty, the feeling of being alive—the rush of the winds, too many would have
lived more! Can’t call it quits. All of it wrestles out. Humans need much more
than what can be given. The poor indebted. The fame of the farmhand. And Love
is a mystic!
