Might be difficult to impress you. So many travels,
surety of culture, swollen pride—easily a dream. Like an afflatus, sudden
divisions, sprawled out laughing, faced by fringes. Aside a prayer, listening
to epithets, selling courage to one waning—a dear ghost, upon a feeling, to
hear a name—on the inside. Might hate emotion. Might adore power.
Might be a giant with chi. Sudden to notice a verse,
seated in disguise, upon a vision, made into agriculture. I drift from speaking
correctly. I’m assumed as tidy. Most walk away from you. You appreciate it. Being
alone has never frightened you. It terrorizes many minds, dealing with hells,
some aren’t diplomatic. I was listening in silence, silence
spoke in grays, it changes, it aches, walking to you
has caused some damages. Errors might repeat. I wish I were honest: It might
not run the distance. And Love has shaded an image, scribbling between lines,
neat, put together, harboring traumas, dwelling in the therapeutics. It seems
excellent. It smiles away anguish. It carries a whale. It points at an
irremovable elephant. I held a heart, it had life, it
pulsated with vengeance; it crossed islands, many held me in contempt, I was
affronted, banished, Love jilted partner, he turned his face, it makes no
sense. Might love and cherish us, as close confidants, deeper philosophies,
grayer evenings, the world is a sky—we keep reaching! Might hold a soul,
treasure its spirit, amazed another is interesting,
longing into the gray nights. Never you mind, the last of longstanding ink,
mere iconoclasts, determined to unfasten belief, ruin beginnings, augment
faith. It should have meanings. And Love was wrong: she exposed me to her
illness, never gave it a face, and expected me to swim to the dynasty. I find a
truth: we open a door, not too widely, just enough,
and get angered, needing ecstasy, too careful to just knit the pash-quilt. Or
too much playing. Might ask for a favor, or forgiveness, of close shop. A most cantankerous
soul, more inside, most gracious, most gifted, many are left in awe; sullen
laughter, sadness as a cheer, happiness as a form of
traumas; to exist in miseries, to know joys, to vibe
with millions. Might claim it, might walk it, might walk into it, might walk
away from it, might love with all you can muster.
