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suddenly, i digress from that loathsome reality

to love; that Love, that will never be.

Your hair in clasped hands; a sight to see!

an utter visage of our inequity

Those dream filled nights; indecision into reverie

a blood-stained heart; i long to see

i watch a couch arrayed amiss; perhaps it was on Delongpre

Or, was it just the spot of me, in err that you'd truly wait for me?

Green-swept necks; the void they say to see

from what i'll gauge my gracious-laden disparity


"...the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!"

if only J. Alfred, your breeze-kissed lips he'd see.

Among the late evening, Chinatown meals we'd be

or, early market arm brushes; my utter pleasantries


fullness, ours, i realise fleeting; forever'll be

while fear; my constant reality.
A whipped plane, plain to see with the windows up, but down, to be downed by the splendor encompassed only with this type of vastness.

Sitting for hours, silence not for naught but traversing efforts toward closeness to the bringer of Peace. The only.

Dreams are heavy, and comforting when the roads journey takes more tolls and toiling on our souls. We disregard for a while the sipped perfection from whence we came, glamoured for justice to who we became.

Trivial matters none the less, uncovered near Hermit's nest. Blessed to bless, fessed to confess.

A priest to stare, iconic to share a truth-unfair to the tune of the wind in our softened hair.

"As a child I spoke like a child, felt as a child does, but now that I'm older I fear that all's not lost." Once a brain, now to complain of a surrounding so deafened, and dream-less. I take it back; for when dreams strive in equal relation to Justice, the days of golden mussels, and embraced lovingness from our soul's longing will reap.

To be.

— The End —