Another year made of fantasies, visions, dreams, escapades. So much cheer; so much somberness. A wilderness for souls; watching life moving, promised departure at some juncture. By some point, we confess limited control; at some point, we see a division: what I desire, and what is, they tend to clash. I pay it my mind. I necessitate a few pleasures. I feel a harshness to it all. Such verbiage.
Such clownwork. So many antennas, many more sounds. Blood blue penalties—deep sacrifice. Like ventriloquists are watching. Like dolls are walking. (It never meant nothing. Love was there. Everyone was altered. A soul left. We communicated. It was simplistic. It was fruitless. Souls were altered. A soul held to that for his life.) It never meant nothing. Spirits sing to glory. Each on his
journey. Some, one religion, others another. It seems similar at times, such differentials—nothing with split hooves. (We traveled, made thousands, moved pieces, too much to exhale. Alike to a castle, seesawing memories, so far apart, and Love had a dream, needing before it’s over.) We meet people in their bragging, they meant it. I shan’t complain, looking at many faults, trying to perfect
something flawed (self)—being better, needing a venue, easing into meaning—life of a person’s spirit, days feeling schisms, albeit, days are often good, a slight emotion, a threshing artist, trying to escape while close to one’s beloved—knowing for uneasiness, wondering why, having to push it away, where it makes for errors. A true condition
