butterflies sit merrily

all my errors fall through burn holes in my clothing
how far does foreboding leave our hearts encased
in designs and desires of exact appraisal
left to gnaw on fires of yester-deigns
the slight of mind causing
all difference of cause

within too much effect
….

the unity of things is greater than we have stipulated in common understandings
matched along the way with pride that is overflowing
with undeserved consequence

the night drifting on an ash
dust the very thing
nobody arose
from

a bundled link to every chain
where locks are colors
(cloth are hopes for perception, melded)
and light is the blessing until
sleep demands a darkness

a silence

a dawn of importance that only lifts
once all veils are holy

once all matters are tested

and the only lack
is more time never fully correlates
to more deeds

perhaps one for the plot
under crows and flowers, gifted

the say is at the heart of being
and i do not fear destiny

only my inability to see greatness
in actions molded by inadequate parcels

by the stretch to some kind of light
and growth
when a whole is stagnant

burning inside pools of sorrow
unexplained
but for the need to govern
each and every tomorrow

with what the morrow-deigns
absolute(ly)
….. beautiful.

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