Born with a destination, all must pass through. Such was an appetite. And saw a spirit, alike to a vampire. To suckle by lights, to surrender to pash, so gray the nights. Was it enough? Sheer excellence, wondering what changed. To pillage a soul, to furnish a spirit, to endure. More walls, describing existence, needing one in essence—lesson of earth, feelings wafting into tears. Too much to ignore; too great to war; too much to unveil. And saw a spirit, alike to a fairytale. In desire as it breathes; in life as it dances; accultured as it blossoms. So tender the anxiety, so tremendous the angst. In trying words, to bend a few, they never explain core endeavor. (Go ahead and chime a smile—thieves in glory, while a soul waits to fly. Never alone in experience, maybe by interpretation.) Made medieval spirits, gothic arts, wilderness and mysteries of dark ages. Years in search, to arrive face to heart, and sense misdirection. To abandon oneself to emotion, to feel terrific, faced by a morning moon. With saying so little, needing to suggest much more, privacy is so limited. Spirit of a cosmic soul—legend of the great claim, immortal mind-waves. Gathering berries, indulging in wildness, disputing altruism. Seeking closure; with depth obedience, to see a fine line.
