so
torn by you to imagine our beauty where unmentionables have transpired; to hate
our laughter to loathe our sanctuary while condoned for unrighteousness; but
beating skies but cymbals high our tribes our terrors our tambourines; those
eyes spent for defensive to have so much to touch shames; our compared lives
our rich alienation at something too terrific to reclaim; but battling anchors
thrown ashore so elegant those nights so deceased come mourning.
as
a delicate tale this heaving witness so comfortable with pretensions; by deep
distinction to despise those winnings where it was by greater differences; our
fixated cross this bleeding catastrophe out of something heinous we
breathe resurrection; such tinted hearts such playful disaster or such cadence
passion; to elope with God to ask for grandfather or to kneel and die afore
grandmother; such honest cries to have loved experience our mothers so those
seas.
by
radiant dishonor to have put life to flesh where rationality becomes pancake
affection.
it would fly gently this daughter
by deliverance while a group is chasing our confessions; to read those
suggestions or to meditate upon sutras while cross-referencing, or
crosspollinating, scripture; to realize such unyielding dejection, to ponder
such reaching projection, but hell is most pleasant these days.
I drink these souls where
knitted kindly while stolen from this creation; conversing with walls, or
traveling hallways, to come to a happy door; this film dogma for an audience,
or this person bent upon life, but I wonder concerning elaborate ethics; where
right becomes its harness or thoughts become their sachet or malaise
becomes a sign of deeper distresses. this dungeon party this sinister angelica
or raging concerning God’s inherent nature; while I must confess those dreary
days while dragged through tales—but life so unveiled so re-vetted such a
resurrected miracle. those unpaved beliefs or strength in fantasy while purely
stating all wrongs as another’s malfunction. I go astray in something never
answered while becoming something Taoist; this motion by passivity this lime by
prematurity or this elegance by unreality; so chatted in you, so afar from
liquidation, rather by curse to hide misdeeds.
so
many
years have
passed,
dungeons have become homes,
where
status-quo is quite ambiguous:
it
gives security, it must by pains, while it appears unnatural.
