I
couldn’t love you, as lost to self, as this vacant ocean; and I couldn’t
surrender, to death itself, afraid to find this life; for grays blossom, into
black and white, where immorality alights the soul; so more to tolerance, as betrayal
of self, this person he couldn’t find; and more to thoughts, this probe of
islands, where life sits alone; for death alerts, to a higher calling, to push
passed ignorance; where love averts—a tender hand, in dire expectations; but
love us more, this barrier of essence, to find for total chaos; and love us
less, this ignorant stance, as pushing realities; but find us not, as born to
strife, afraid the measure is short; to see us venture—into mortal lands, where
life is immortal. I can’t but perish, to know of mercy, where humans refuse to
forgive; and what of pain, the slight of graves, where disease seeps into a
crevice; to see us die, as fully aware, as to affect the minds of empathy; but
it couldn’t be real, to love regardless, aflame the dungeons of betrayal; to
conjure virtue, this never shall die, in spite of total disrespect; as born to
perish, and called to tortures, as to invest in total destruction. It couldn’t
be love, as to live this life, as to know that love is broken; and it couldn’t be
love, as to ruin a soul, and plead for undying affection; but this is life, the
morbid for blind, as to destroy the walls of Shiloh; and where was art, this
thing of souls, as lurking in shadowy lions; to evoke a king—the prince of
tears, as alert as that last sentence; to tender a heart, whereas, the night
was gloom, a tendency towards the fatal; as was his life, buried with the
queen, where hell became a private kingdom. I can’t explain, that pain of
trust, to surrender to total injustice; as holding this vein, where blood would
drip, and needles would laugh; but this is flight, to soar with turmoil, as
alive in sorrow; and this is sloth, the ways of fools, as to demand tunneled
vision. Oh to cry the nights, a villain through a sanctuary, to receive his fated
injection; and oh the days, where light was bleeding, and souls intervened; to
have for purse, the riches of earth, as something to forfeit for joy.
