Sunday, December 13, 2020

Above Anything God Planned!

 

am I in the way? soft into a tender breeze. such down-ness in courage. the sweet music so bittersweet such blanket memories. to adore like Barry to die like Luther as screaming some obscenity. by blood-green-penalties so innocent it meant life while most become scoundrels. such delicate/aggressive lovemaking such kindness to distresses to wish joy or happiness or love. the mornings we laughed those evenings we cried such cathartic elegance. it starts to set a tone. it shares its life. it becomes vulnerable magic. it hurts at a slight. it ponders at midnight. it looks over at no further. such medical love such diagram love, such closed doors—to public advice to adore in agony while screaming for its human. to see-through to puncture rib, heart, or artery—as a compassionate quilt such deep fright while running from self is idiotic. so close in us so far from doubt, can we remember those days? don’t die in me but blossom in me—come see the best in me! to sense action in some hurt-arena while feeling like Polycarp.     I will sprint to you. I will encourage you. I will raise children with you.     so scared so hurt such removal of past anguish. our meals with grace. our souls with heat. so fervid into atmosphere. our communion, our battle, our secret underground reality. such evidence in time such respect for essence so great into checking our attractions. to voice insecurity to adore vulnerability as souls agreeing to die in arms. how much I need to crave … how much I run to you … how much sad-joy for us!     the sea is conditioned it tells of waves it speaks of confidence. we have come to go as creatures like slaves to have a connection unreal in our healing. the beauty of excellence the tragedy of total vulnerability or rewards too treasured to escape.     it was angelic or casual or too revealing; so sudden into another episode so cursed in pure glory; as irrational characters to need tender surrender as home is some special education. those ferns destroyed those tumbleweeds set to flame, while looking at us is trust above anything God Planned!    

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...