Growth and Fears

I confess. I have come to reckon death, as royalty. To perish is to live. I have learned to die freely. Somewhere within a trance, I came face to face with love. She has devastated me unto life: life became poetry, my balance. Torpor, mother of anguish, Have I graduated? Or am I but a fantast—conquered by a dream? Or am I tainted? I drift. Lady Professor, winsome, vibrant, so alive, I have touched thee in spirit; but I suffer; for desire, hath remained untouched. My senses are whet; but I have learned to suffer; I have learned to do without. Rancor I have not: within my desert storm. I am burning aflame: thoughts of lust. I am a sybarite: the last to trust. I have become ambivalent. I am no more than philosophy. Cry upon God for me! Pray that my wistful soul breaks free. Cry upon God for me! Pray that God beaks me free; for I am burning. I am a building aflame; freefalling into a sea of pain; but Cleopatra is near, rejuvenation, unto tears. I will again breathe; despite my fears. Glenn Jr. Marchand