Velvet Carpet Souls

We live through filters, enhanced through knowledge, this grace by mercy that soul; to die so casually, as to visit spirits, this thing concerning liquor; as much to cherish, this welkin sword, at tears, to hear your name; while forever free, chained to sadness, this temperament that chase. It had to see us, while alive that moment, to witness that shifting; those fragile feelings, that ruined dream, that confronting reality; to die your heart, thrust through at nights, those seconds to court peace; this inner soul, that outer spell, this sprinkle by mists that feeling; albeit, time, this elusive blur, this instinctive walk—as becoming but fractions, this self to vet, at woes, to see reflections; this catch by sea, that monster’s metaphor, this segment that part that scream. We heard through passion, this wretched land, to arrive by sudden those points; to unlatch souls, this trough of secrets, at thoughts, so deep, that island. It could to live us, this thing of freewill, determined towards autonomies; this freezer by arts, that warmth by portraits, those fretted colors; to sing for blues, those joys of jazz, peering at pop-culture; to know for love, this inanimate thing, wrestling by inner forces. I’m with needs to live, soaring through sentences, at chains, this meadow, your brains; to breathe through stems, those gates as journeys, alive but torn that virtue; where demons are thoughts, plaguing cultures, this breakage through realities; as charged this soul, this mystic chaos, that disorder by angst his orders; where hells linger, this subtle distinction, as to figure this space of minds; as overwhelmed, peering at subtleties, this woman, her light, a fire. It could be life, those series of powers, where spirits excel; while left to musings, to dig for deeper, to extract subjective truths; as purposed as pillars, those flames betwixt energies, to fly at tempers this sword. I met a force—our blemish as rhythmic, why to fathom we couldn’t see; where sights were vivid, this percent of brains, as searching for Christ’s mind; to have troubled such caves, this order by chaos, as explored this solitude; where arts are valued, to ask for prayer, this torture by layers our joys. It had to drill life, as pushing powers, while confessing our blues; this fiction as real, that myth as facts, this courage we take to fly.