To have thought in soul an ache in departure; to have wavered by doubt a hand towards slavery; such rhythm by its curse while we wonder of what can’t be explained. Certain blasphemy. A man held captive, tethered to his heartbeat. By lotus flower, marigold skies, to have loved once by its creation. In adoring marrow the bone of enticement, with addiction to a human flame; captured by memories, plain illusion, repenting those hours of Illuminati. Such a catapult. Such creative opalescence. In needing you, I lost you. A mind in its terrors. A black magic woman. To wonder in spirits those lakes as above, to chisel walls in a petroglyph, hands to shadows. In dire need of you, in treasures to have sin, alone inside, a fountain of ambitions. I was aiming for eternity, longing for infinity, shunned for non-composure, thwarted at the fence. Surrounded by doubts, moving through legends, so abrupt it would seem, those aforesaid tyrannies. So much stock in a passing gesture, it shows a man is un-attentive; in desiring you, in wanting to collage with you, in memories of close to an edge for you, I’d come to realize—days are forged in pain. Water plummets the seas, ships are tossed to and fro, dying seems imminent; and a spark, as called love, so much in dynasty, accursed and proud to have lived.
