It's the fifth checkmate. I’m gathering such rich lyrics, organizing them in order to capture that image of the holy you, while you are hovering over my melancholic mind like a brilliant baby angel, delving gently with your holy fingertips into my memories, extracting the tender hallowed lullabies and gospels I used to distract dread with, and archiving some critical sores deeply into the rigid absent-mindedness of mine. Your portrait is bursting out of my soul like a fresh era, tempting my verses to leap out of my lines; it’s another uncertain obligation. Words down there, still conscious, for the sake of better refuge. Poems are shimmering, shivering, and blinking in every corner of this attempt. My soul wandering around, sinking in each corner for a better rhythmic choice, how many poetic soul do I need to cover this perfect divine of yours inside of my belief.

I. N. R. I.

   Is it time to pull that Insignificant

Nazarethian Redundant Irrelevant

                from the cross?

                          †

why is love such a difficult task
hard to capture
harder to grasp
it calls to you from a lover once yours
as you aimlessly stare from your silence
on these shores
how did it fade into something routine
yet hollow your heart
when it
left