Fill in the blank(s)

Somewhere in contrast our bodies soar
Journey that had its day made
Available in wishful contention
Another one to the right, forced call
Had been weary of slumber forgotten
Where I refuse to be sane
Your judgements of mushy frame
This picture has a name
In that forest, as intimacy loomed
A textual being in words resume
Of worship and strong purpose
Spatial your breath always consume
Mists and finer curtains
Behind which our formed eyes close
Best kept secrets in darker dwellings
Dancers made of smoke
And angels in water spring
Where lone my griffon hankers
The night in wings made of fire
Screech certain a sound once
Over your ears that escaped
Borrowed again from tradition
What we call religion of shame
Force then to dissolve
As my eyes fixed tremble
In faith that had been
To your echoes, I bend
For night you had contained
In contamination of your will
To pronounce matters as just
I depart the resounding veil
Dry as ever could have been
For that beast you had mentioned
Stung as if from medicine needle
Promising chapters and chapters of health
But beneath strong purpose as taught
Saw seated comfortably again
How smokes to heights expand
Then tired rains welcome doom
Figments of smoke in whole
To the ground desperately thrash
As if prophesying a bright sunny day
If that is how it is meant to be
I don’t see to what decree
Then matters, beyond the frame we choose
Uncomprehended and delightfully new
Wishes our bodies in shape curtail
Rectangles and finer squares
To roots then define
Every step in yonder direction
Spelled out in lustful names
Forget not the griffon soars
Eyeing your worship and prey
To settle its hunger another day.

***

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Spell

Upon slopes tones breathing fine
Seated among gentle greens
Folded to eyes as shut
Stars and planets bound trust
Here into darkness immaculate blend
Screams in furious echoes
And beats shine thorough
Ambience of unbroken crimson haze
Balancing figures as they surround
Fire somewhere
Dance then always lost in your gaze
Certain things rare turbulence shape
Holding light flutter to indigo sky
There from sudden butterfly
Severe scented perfume high
Forgotten then into an ace of dreams
Fifty five and twenty nine
Superior touch to seasons’ hold
All joys in lazy afternoons
Fading always deeper into background
Crazes that had once storms scold
What kind of cast this I carry
Come over again and set me free…

***

 

Semantic Justice – 3