To
live your soul, as cold as warm, as split as seas
flowing
into splinters—this chance upon love.
We
perish—a rising hell, as beautiful as blue trees
where
falls a purple sky to poke-a-dot a teal grove.
Be
it fantasy, a living smile, forever fervent; even
upon
nights, a house of torpedoes, to capture range.
If
ever this breeze, as worn as hurt, as red as grievin’—
a
fleece to shed, through blackwood glares of rain.
To
what end, this wicked joy, pulling as to reinvent
a
series of souls; oh what scars trickle upon petals
dreaming
as to smile, to climb for more, a torn intent
flipping
a daymare, the sorrow of diamonds settles.
More
to boldness; for never it was, a twinkle for castles
a
horse through vineyards, galloping towards hassles.
