I could say too much, lose excellence, disenchant a soul.
It’s been uneasy storming—longer roads, wider forests; trailing demons, escaping rescue, adverting moon spells.
No one sees endurance.
Most see engulfment.
By the time I got to her, I was concrete.
By the days I met you, I was naïve.
Grave music; many names; I must relive you—
those years are sweeter
matrimony.
I don’t know if it’s true—to love another more each day.
I’d try it.
What is romance: it’s dreams—a purpose inside an existential dilemma.
Life is open or filled by walls.
I watched a lady, becoming so grand, it had to be unreal, the hell in men that keep searching.
No one ever freed us: no one warned of disclosure.
To be in one place, looking at invisible features, asking about some vision.
You need to live. I must fathom.
You’ve perished. It must be freedom.
So near into unpaved skies, psychotic rivers, bled and remaining innocent.
To mend us, through breakage, fraught by an inner antenna—living by a second, threading chances, bilked by illusion.
I close—saying nothing, grieving in joys.
