It seems life is anxious, ambitious, angry.
We continue to climb & comb terrains; with gnashing & gnawing.
Such pantomime spirits; surly enchanted.
A type of discomfort, discomfited, damaged early-on.
Plus, Love has proven value, lines unsteady, we assert something has blurred;
with wrongness, made weary, wrought in raindrops—
those with passion, palatial problems—
thrown & unfolded, a silent glimpse at sunshine.
Burgundy behavior. Too much hurts.
To exist. To have Loved. To churn.
Each soul wrestles a shadow; thrust
through by habits.
Over in bushes sits a flame, to flicker, to speak a language;
it means so much, as dancing into history, crocheting our future, with fire falling.
Traffic is unusual.
Diamonds are unraveled.
Such curious winds.
