Tuesday, January 2, 2024

Confused Halos

 

Ruining everything. I saw her crumbling. To witness a beast weeping. 

Such strength; unbeknownst at times, dying seems difficult. 

I used to marvel at her—thugged out and delicate. 

It was pains to reap miseries; it was kindness to extract wisdom.

It takes a shift, for dear reason.

Another is suffering, I see her angst, I remain non-intrusive. 

And one lady from Gertrude’s line, shifting through rites, flying through spaces, if only the message.

Those senses, with aromas, aside a loud cauldron, and God might drink. 

Was it us, a miracle, bled dry, love for an olden comrade. 

Can’t explore wilderness; can’t sing what’s unsung. 

Immemorial times those feelings affected by lusts.

    It rarely falls as it should. In forcing syntax, one dies. So precedented; one dream those days, and nerves were fretting. Affected by l...