Monday, February 29, 2016
He has might of an acolyte,
Wise and elevated in spirit;
Airtight, with the seclusion,
His arms are the differentiated
Limbs of the entire body and soul.
I live and perform the information,
With a transformation, as the pen
Lives on, mastering our hands every
Way the line repels, feeding a gnomish
Character superseding the rest.
I am deformed as a Hal-fling, a short
Type of man, feasting on platforms
That house the outward foam.
I must confront you, I may endeavour
To confirm you, in the soul of fires.
In the womb I met you, with thunderstorm,
And with blood, and with sandstorm.
Frozen by the wastes, a heated hiding place
Finished the foetus with a swearing to health.
I am deformed in spirit, wise in connivance,
And conceptions run deep, run off the waterfall
Into the lake of spiritual existence, I gain this.
First the dormitory appears to outlive me,
Then the storms arise from a hive of bees,
The deeper who are asleep, like wells of sadness,
Like bridges of definite health and healing.
I leap and pray today, I leap like leprosy
In its original form, the reality of the day is upon us.
Topic(s) of this poem: creation