It
becomes power, several thumps an hour, as if shifts have changed; as one on,
and one off, this friction as fire; to fall to love, this error of souls, while
running off friends; to admeasure life, this singing disposition, as wafting
flame; but where was I, this hidden
melody, to bloom at daybreak: this forbidden chaos, as quite for sullen, those
inner surveys; to find this voice, a bit for dumbfounded—that string to dot
connection. I fathom power, slanted towards women, for mother was savage; this
contradiction, as healing in pieces, to enter that heartache. We float about,
strumming dimensions, aloof to powers within; while screaming, “Love,” this
florid cadence, reasoned in ghosts; this flying volt, or more internal, but
severed at junctions; thus, we live a riddle, attention to proximities, at
wonders to confess this charm: this flaring light, at woes to hush—these
furious volts. I used to smile, prior to therapy, while now I observe—this
powerful force, as manic keenly, or anxieties nigh that vocation; to feature
volume, as loud as concentration, to greet a soul as it awakens; this vest of
thoughts, as pure intuition—this fabulous daughter; as both root and friend, as
loving a nation; those wants to come, as pure identity, to have that furious
discussion: if thoughts are gentle, this magnet wave, to find this type of
motive: that mystic face; those mystic charms; that arm as living science—to
curve a flame, as sudden to happen, this thing unexplained; where this is life,
this driving adrenaline, rushing into torpedoes; as lately it’s been, this
rhythm of souls, to enter such soul-ships.
We
take it seriously, this inner world, to peer at invisibility; this lake of
havoc, while pacing floors, or looming in pure stillness; that chase of
persons, to feel those hearts, or one screaming for mercy; this inner secret,
while seeing ghosts—our mirrors a field of phantoms; to glow with change,
courted by country waves, adrift by gates this manic sphere; as not for harm,
but more as ecstasy, flaring through city-storms; to live with grace, this humble
face, while mischief enough to aid souls: that controversy; as carrying
eternity; this student as Sensei, a necessary clarity—our Sensei as student; as
psychological, or physiological, as aided or unaided—where laws are spirits,
while surging this vast forest, as trekking through desert lights.
We
love by nature, this platonic adventure—to have such thoughts; that outer
tension, as pure an undercurrent, as souls perk up and watch: this sight of
songs, while fumbling symbols, where love becomes affection; to fathom
feelings, as never to origin, but perceptions merely, as kissing emotions,
flooded with tempers, this furry driving eternity; to flame all night, as
thumping hearts, to generate this Ghost; that Holy Essence, as pure celebration, to come by chance those meadows;
to touch that river, this whiteness of souls, as dark as midnight blackness;
this dearth of sins, as coming into closeness, to realize an irony; where love
is presence, as singing alone—our vocals generating waves. I’ve said little, where
little was said, scratching at backgrounds; to see that face, or to remember
gestures, as racing through those feelings.
