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My flower grows on a lucid hilltop pride,on land that never erodes and thrives 
through death's caressing touch.Capsulized in crystalline, her petals fall like 
dewdrops painting the winds cries. Tears kiss the pain; my hurt is in my eyes, my 
truth, my mask, the softness-crier that feels without touch. And though I hide, she 
knows me, holds me, turns my stray into life. Evanescing-assuasive-blind is my 
faith, and she, her majesty, is divine, swaying all that moves and carries onward 
life. I, in limbo, lie and watch her at night. Reading pagan psalms, I learn the 
many ways, the many lights that guide seeds of iniquity away from exacerbating 
plight, the many moralities of mortality. 

And, though, I read book after book and ponder songs sacred, forlorn, I weary on. 
My feet imprint where I've been, foot-stepping my physical path of everyday morn 
and always-ending night. Be it, every step that has been taken, that is who am I, 
questions that rest with the mind. She, like an angel of a ghost, foot-fell softly 
upon my chest and opened my body, dim to her own. She can see the tracks, 
intangible, the home of my soul. Clothed, I fade naked to her affectionate whims, 
soft touches that sink core-deep, company that lies by my side, ecstacy that sub-
heal-sinks into euphoria. When she leaves, my dreams call for her, bleed out for 
her, frantically seek her guidance and love. 

I am a faithless man drawn to a light which likeness brims in a body of 
sweetness, a body that scents warmth echoing after each smell, the sweet smell 
of my flower. It soothes the aching-wondering, the lost-fantasm that makes me 
heavier, the metal that makes me harder. Where I'm going, I do not know, but I do 
choose where, when I walk away, when I go on. 'Pray I do not walk in vain, for, 
one day, I wish to be king of my domain, myself. But, who am I to say what days 
will fall onto mine, what power I really have, if I should ever fall in one of the ides 
like a great leader gone too far? 

Solitude and ambiguity is my remedy for the illness-uncertainty. All I know is what 
I want, what beckons me, my unbridled urgency-eternally. And, always, she 
knows my faithfulness to her, but my choice is my spirit. But, then, I cannot 
pretend I don't yearn for something more, for something greater than myself, a 
cradle in which to sow my end. Only life-ambiguous is relevant. With chance, 
patience, and prayer-faithless, perhaps I'll rest with her, my flower, everlastingly 
in crystalline-divinity.
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