It was a major concern the ability to soar, to fly and float the four corners. I was with violence inside—too unstable, able to see commonsense. A younger man filled with hunger, a societal man. It was vicious. It made for normality. I hid those rivers, handkerchiefs filled with water, salty residue, muddy cheekbones. Years keep passing. I’m seeing faces. I’m divided between visions. And Love would ask: “Are you carrying something?” Of necessity to wrestle silent demons, such bad angels. So salacious for riches. Touched much too soon. Knew detriments. Knew glory. Such baffling games—losing innocence, arguing over nonsense. With private oasis—some fairytale, to loosen reins, to feign symmetry, such warped planets. I was looking. As we all are watching. Love was trying. Love was singing and tapdancing. When analyzing a global picture, it seems part harmful. It was a major concern the ability to soar, to fly and float the four corners. I was with silence. If asked to vamp, I’d rebel. It’s amazing how we come back. I insist on equality. I can know one is with error; it’s their privilege to broach the topic. I venture to believe selfishness rages forth. I, too, fathom many disagree with the author. I wonder what absolute affection looks like. We tend to need absolute necessities. It seems wrong to swallow a phantom, to suffer while one acts oblivious: this in part is human nature. We might gloat over goodness, praise to no small degree, while aching the silence of true nature. So many tragedies, pointing at similar reality, one is filled with rain, kissing bliss, afraid to imagine one so close—acting contrary. Nevertheless, home is sanctuary, the world is for war. I wonder what absolute affection looks like.
