I know for winning, agaze, life has built its empire. Never knowing immediacy. Never completely complete. So foreign to souls, allotted three maxims, wondering if God is confused. Threatened in it, pushing passed it, it angers itself. To be with age, charmed to have thrived, a little too consumed. (I know for losing, detached remnants, the last shall fall in line. And loving has been lethal, rain as it plummets, earth as she submits. Fire of a kiln, so discontent, froth, ice, & flame.) Too casual for some, head first into pains, to look back & apologize for fury. (Days losing it, memories kissing, tender upon an aching heart; to disagree, to feel denied, wondering what two are flushed about.) Softer colors, rainbow pigmentation, as distinct & clear absence—from promises, from self, running to escape back—to a time, with wings, all were souls of fires. When spirits come together, when trust is pivotal, aside a furnace—shedding tears; a child saying courage, an indecent awakening, a soul sewn into fabrics—love of its sin, days of its love, if it went well, every time, what are we talking about? It seems green to souls, it seems blue to jazz, it seems life is losing, love is winning, despite welkin clamps. By habits, by dreams, by flames. Upon broken skies, fevered by forever, drowning imperfections—to have specialness, to evolve in a second, to look back & scream, nothing matters. A fool for his pen, an art for her rain, a seed blooming into a diamond.
