keeping with church is hard. a person’s whole life is recovery: from parents, partners, and friends. the fragrance is either delightful or offensive.
songs
in us so thrust into society such reaching to maintain. we shroud passion we
drift by piano we drink in our cellars. many protect vacancies where rooms are
rented while many trespass diaries.
I don’t fathom fate, it seems involuntary, or determined by chance; the fist of fury those boxers collapsing or tilling some imaginary fortress. where veneer is thicker souls are harvested or pains are excruciating.
a man is arrested by perception. he’s destroyed by actuality. life becomes a huge fence; palming it, or gripping it, or piercing through holes. some dear fallacy, some Schopenhauer illusion, or by way of insight; to perish at some space, listening to some voice, or seeing Naidu in vision. to wonder for Rescue or to need salvation—with little idea of its qualification. as echoed in lights such watts in frustration or too large to accept commonsense.
by bruised reasoning into agape inception where understanding is subsumed in particular needs. as seven perfections or availability in some crevice with some cultic dignitary. such tutelage in rationality such surrender at existence where one is free from the onslaught or decisions. by sweet amore, by feared islands, as becoming what is deemed as essential. such rise in countenance or us determined by excellence—where credibility is valued as skeptical.
I was
an adolescent, secured in improbability, it felt natural to select an absolute
property. but inconsistency or human frailty seemed un-right in distinguishing
flaws, or failures, or fickleness.
we might develop predilections. or overstep authority—for why a person in order that I may channel a Spirit?
so
much as ghosts where it’s a feeling while primitive access is fluid in our
excellence.
