Being Human

I sense in seeing the abuse of the soul, sensitive passions, booted, Love is a warrior; so wide-eyed, so sleepy, an inner examiner; much in sky cologne, intrinsic sacrifice, a group becoming a religion, the religion becoming a venue; glints of tomorrow, old life cuffs, keys kept as throwbacks; the yelping mirrors, stricter dynamics, the ghost mind; feet planted in stillness, deciphering commonsense, discerning what sounds appealing. The flights—the realism—trying to live in accordance—with arête, cultural excellence, nearing something made perfect—despite, inherent flaws. Made delicate in time, so secure in spirit, a man must pay retribution—to spirit, life, and reality. The skies are immortal, the thousand-year-old tree felt a chainsaw, the ache in rain became the reason to attack and adjust. Counting root-rings, walking into the lines—the life, trailing ancestors; needing paradise, feeling human, trying to decode what that means.