Let there be nothing
To consider,
Yet let my mind deem it all readable
And I will regard the broken
Fractures in my emotions,
Halves of the same heart
That drips and falls into running,
At the same moments,
Both joy and intangible perception
Of the spark before the fire,
The dark into the mire,
Blue-tongued, green,
Whilst the heat is red-infused,
My face mere white,
Ghostly in the lack of knowledge’s light.
What is love if it is not
To fall foul of the other
Mutation along its banks?
In what clarification,
Dictionary or manuscription,
Do the two meet? Alone
And still as one where words
Follow the blind fold, meaningless.
That is not what I shall absorb
Into my depths-
So that may not be love.
How can it exist?
When water puts a douse to fire,
Yet opposites are only stronger
When they augment the next,
And others keep the doubt
Solid upon my mind,
When I am certain it is the truth.

The End

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