I’ve will to survive. With
hell at location. A furious fire, a flame, leering into scripture. Each maxim,
every element, indeed, to have life; breaking bondages, healing in parts,
picking up new dilemmas. To have adored Christ, to live Christ, after such
filth, to have met Satan—in language, in style, in arts, in motion. [my body
yens for freedom.] [my soul aches for clarity.] In knowing it was seen,
aftermath intelligence, to know for suffering—kindred souls. At a boarder, in
seas, thrumming arms, nothing is coming. To sink, to go low, upon a hand, upon
a nightmare, upon a shore. A soldier of love—a little reaching,
nevertheless, a heart stresses to work, in adoring her music, there comes a
disagreement. Hearts are aflame. In passing, in miracle, she fraught a soul, an
exaggerated swoosh. Another in lagoons, topology burning, oak trees upon lives—so
sweet, so delicate, I’ve a problem with loving. Science has so much to render—suspended
as we are, to think logically, and still, to fall into emotion—why hast a
system yen’d for feelings, natural upon a Cross, listening to Mariam? I’ve
will to survive. Needing to reveal so much, damaged at bridges, cleaving to
sanity, walking across a pond. In cessation is a claim, suffering shall
stop, a mind learns to maneuver, satori is Rumi, samsara is Christ,
do forgive if inappropriate.
