Life has meaning, upon a positive quest—depth of anxiety, existential chaos, Love made royal, garments churning purple.
To have adored an eagle, to have become a sparrow, too long in wilderness—one final chapter.
Whispers in shadows. Anxiety in woes. The best parts were suffering alienation; the best charts caught reflection in eyes, eureka—those arts, sullen charms, surrendering to debate.
So much disgust became sweet syrup; so much passion began to hurt; in needing, it was evocative—the fire we slain in becoming martyrs.
Where did we travel?
Most likely to vet something invisible.
Custody of aches, flame of dungeons, sorrows of the greater skies.
Never meant it that way.
Never knew me.
Never to exclaim possession.
Neat ambivalence. Acquired sensation.
To grow so quickly. To share with a stranger those woes.
To have a gift. To see it in others. To know for a few spirits.
A life as it churns, a danger if untamed.
We won so much, to have lost a fancy.
Needing indivisibility, a tangible heart, as beating back and forth, while on trial for humanity.
