Colorful Flowers

Is it transference: I’m unfamiliar; but so familiar: read the

Scriptures; and dear—my God, the darkest cries; and such

Arrogance: to scrape stars in 20 minutes. I long—a

Normal day; and wail—a blighted sun; for buried anger, a

Scribbled myth; and soaring pain, a finger God. My psalmic

Thorn: spear a lover; and summons peace; for deep control—

Is independence; and cryptic minds, heal self. Thus the grief—

Opposed a mirror; for failure—a must reflect; but more—the

Game, a faint audition; and such a decade—a silent rift; and

Such a furry—a hidden quirk. The countenance speaks: a

Vat of lies; and such conceit, to vex the soul; but purpose rose,

A lotus wind; and dictum minds—afraid to see; thus the war,

A circle flame; and thus the trial, a green ideal. Indeed a book,

Speaks the frame; but true to heart, we must engage.