Seasons if not the weather blew a petalfalls.
If what should sink drains, what whispers drop?
If waterfalls bring a river, petalfalls cradle deep
a billow north. And frank wisdom is its blessing,
If leaves can ponder. So butterflies should only
Wander; So far as the petalfall’s whisper drops.
Till’ I'm away down south, with my friends balmed to the clouds, cradled to a thousandfold.

Aim high wont you? These arms followed an angle close to you, than right. That diamond eyes, peered once, before the setter of our struggle.

The karmas misled the merits,
And the merits with decisions.
A tension teasing, ******* questions,
Sowed beneath burnt-up fields beside a road.
The smoke’s precision upon its smudging air,
That tears it open, that leads across unwoven.
And our eternity shreds a speck of little dignity.
My dignity that shared a speck upon our eternity.
A steam kissed and ate the air-flux. A rough chill!
Singeing our eyes to let free—Yet we hugged
the same pillow in the fire; And diamond shards fell beneath your cheek, peering at the setter.
Do not cry, beloved. I will save your life:
Impairing the merits that misled us,
The decisions that misled us.

Prayers are no meditations for your begging.
Pretending you're embedded in God’s will,
Aside salvation: The eternal momentum to
Chant a meaning; his second-hand revelations!
To bear witness the next three digited centuries.  
And what if the burst of colors was in my head,
From the crowns walked a plank to confess
A halfpiece of bread, and a wine-full of blood
In your heart. What knees pristine, uncalloused!
As if uncrucifixed to the privilege of delusions.

A heathen! Me?
You're mistaken, my brother.
He is definitive in my eyes! And upon my words,
Our Father sees me as he sees you.
But I see you not as Our Father does.

For when you're lost then, do you seize deceit?
Because the latter excuses were amiss
of validations from other Holy spirits?
Or is it, you're paltrier of a servant unrequited
By God’s manifestation of an ant,
Born inside an indecisive man: crying—begging.
Fate and God and spirits and fortunes,
Whatever fits your pocket, fits with lies.
Lies that begged to know a little paradise.
It's all abstract! A profound persuasion within.
Numbers ruined the origins of your skin?
You don't know? Where's your resolution then?
If one beseechs one more trivial permission,
When does the life of purity begin?
And if one doubts his God,
Is he not permitted to sin?

By the everyday bench, he—above all, is sinister.
Look yonder, at his warped entry hole,
aloft his ghoul-like chin.
Mercy! The bread cried.
That sad naked eyes gazing upon his feast,
Until the dry surface denied
his tongue, gliding through utmost dexterity,
And eventually died.

The blood is butter,
The tongue is hell.

And the crust could only tell
What is beyond nothing before reverie.

The mush, the crush, a touch of reverie.
He's but a entitlement of his attonements.
He’s the lyrical empirical, reaper of meals,
That is only eaten by men,
by women, by child.  
Upon fixation, he's near but a separation
of humanity and *******.
An offspring of all vices,
A reaper of reverie.
What need of you to ponder
more in the face of a Monster?

When the wind takes over—me and you.
I’d plunge a tonic to drag its destruction.
Till’ your kiss hits the cloud banks to insue,
violence of graven red by my cheeks into
a vast depression of lonesome hermits—
While I’m still in need of your urgency,
The bubbles spills upon your dress.
And now, the world is a mess.

The world with pretty closed eyes.
I lifted from room to room on her thighs,
And drew to plunge our destruction to synchronize.

The great pessimist of the century,
wins over fate by the order of all-
Knights in blue in matters of righteously
Collapsing on its knees named ‘fairness’ wons
A century of dismissals of cries,
Descending again rewinding demise.
The image of its state in perfect shapes,
Formed outside prevalent ties, with craniums,
with faces non-eccentric intentions,
sovereign definitions winding up
And down and undermines your ambitions.
New and old and inventive thoughts…Process.
Simple as just. Simple as in breathing,
In and out your end—from the beginning.

The moment we met eyes,
You gave birth to our child.

You nurture with tears; by restless bosoms.
I return by the evening, noticing its thighs
Fat and growing.
I ran to some-thing significant in time,
To excuse myself from the crying.

When I sleep i recall
These three beds stole all my salary.
Since your ******* breakdowns that caused
this relations to shatter carelessly.
I should have escaped from this slammer.
With the child, or not.

You be space out by the window telling the child,
“He’ll be away for a while.”
And I’ll leave the window panes open,
For wind to pass through.
That oughta leave you something.

I'd wish for a medicine
But there's no more cure,
For a lovable child-full wifeless future.