We
distance ourselves, to find for closer, to hear for alarms. I met a cyclone,
spent
with liquor, to never see; and saw I did, even features, to disappear.
It’s
ever your mind, where particles drift, a deep phenomenon. I felt for thumps,
a
graven soul, to feel reflection. It’s simple for hard, to condition hearts, to
carry
a fusion. Oh the credenza, to reuse words, sipping warm wine. I want
for
it, a secret world, to bless disposition. I’m you, floating freely, to grip
insanity;
and all the more, a bit teary, to feel your rain. We love it like diamonds,
a
touch of flame, to chant your river; and less my name, to hear your person,
and
jotting notes; for it’s an art, to probe a soul, a bit off balance. We must
return,
afloat
for days, a touch insane. Rain and be free, as distant as earth, to rest in
soils.
I die your stream, to rise your pride, to seek for comfort. We paint perfectly,
adrift
in private, to test insanity; and more for sane, a deep paradox, to know for
secrets.
I love your heart, where never to meet—a scorned paradise. Catch us
pausing,
to rake a particle, a touch for manic; and how for it, a sacred art, to
flame
a heart-cave; and sudden infusion, to see it again, a soul intense. We never
for
laughs, to see for both, where Jung measured; and must for three, to hear a
child,
dormant for years. Feel and be free, adrift the Ba, to praise the Ka, to
feel
an overseer. We stress the pain, to grow with hurt, nearly erased; but less
for
death, and more for life, to merge with billions—our souls!
