It wasn't..

we can no more than smoke until the flame return

not even,

the spirits in smoke ascended to high heaven,
by the cruelest way of pain,
for those stationed to the left of you

It wasn't that.

It wasn't..

Your genial spirits fail,
in a slumber
..
perhaps a berebaso, i'll give you that,
for a rare rhyme

It wasn't..

old time,
that was pulled by oxen

No,

It wasn't..

a trim of self to the storm of time.

It was more a squeeze,

that made us sh**.

It wasn't..

The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
from whose unseen presence the leaves dead are driven.

No?

It wasn't..

the agony of bloody sweat,
the voice of love with tongue of flame recording your charity. Your hearts, your lives right willingly you gave

It wasn't that which became so prevalent

but it was..

Reasoning upon its own dark fiction,
in doubt which is self-contradiction

that wasn't.

It wasn't..

The verb who died in every mood and tense for the noun,

not even,

were I a predator of poor thoughts

I
t

w
a
s
n't.

It was..

this body of hers, making itself a stronghold,

It wasn't..
ceasing from mental fight, Nor my verbal sword sleeping in my hand

It wasn't..
leaving a legacy of ebbing veins,
Inconstant heat and nevertheless reining,

It was..
The quest for certainty blocking the search for meaning,
of the endocrine system

I?T?..

Are you paranoid now?