I
see you churning, the scope of madness, to court for order. We love you living,
spinning through portals, the heart of a stepfather. We chime in gray, bent for
burgundy, to love a mother; for mother gave for life, a swan on a Schwinn, the
moonlit scars. I pause and faint, to disturb the cosmos, to channel the soul.
We perish levels, to rise a sister’s breath, the kef of holiness. We see the
selfish, to laugh and cry, a tattooed spine; but what for life, a daughter in
motion, the potions of love. I felt for suitors, a youngster with charm, the
years of your soul; where passion soars, the jaded to come, to pant through
rivers. Is it Buddha, Love—to define
sorrow, to set a path? I ask—filled
with fever, a morning ritual. The
earth is tears, to find for joys, the name of a swan; in which is panic, to
court for friends, to spell it backwards.
There’s tender the nights, to fracture the days, to seal the seven
churches; and this for pain, and mystic grains, to argue a wall; and why for
this, to feel it erupt, the cup of futures; for the Lord is Shepherd, a flaming
Ghost, the Christ of mystery; where angst wails, to see for psychs, to regain
the course. I’m shocked and moving,
to feel it deeply, that ancient burn.
I know for folly, the ocean’s debate, to find for laughter; and god
heard, to answer with time, the realms of turmoil. Fly the clouds, and grip the skies, that
closer to breath; whereat is wealth, the go for in—the tides of songbirds; in
which is art, those tragic waves, to fall and rise. I love you soaring, to remember self, that
soulfelt friend; for life is beige, the hurt for goods, a family of detriments;
and a goddess knew, to kiss a daughter, to promise security. Oh the nights, to
toss for turns, and terrified dearly.
