that

something
vicarious
whispers
them;
stay,
gravity
shall return
when safety
forsakes fear
and shakes
delirium
between fragmented
thought
and naive reason;

this them
they see
shall change,
resistant
to fiction,
lived once,
lost twice,
beneath
realities
faithful to hope
while hoping for faith,
that this them shall remain
when all else
shall
change.

what is love?
how dare you
understand its
immortalized
understanding
of yours;
the whys
inside;
hugged
away from
pain;
mortality;
themselves-
these never meant to-
couldn't help moments,
alone
in the dark,
disappeared,
in cold thought,
completely missing
the point,
of purgatory;
the is of this
what-
coping
with knowing not
what to ask
or how to accept
the answer
in question.

They know,
no better
than experience,
but believe
in experiences
which have yet
to be;
born of
believing
wholeheartedly,
that these could
should or would
maybes
hold purpose
in this present
disbelief,
certainly they know
that then was when
is gone
the comfort
of sheets snug
and moons warm
of ignorant
understanding,
and innocence
who never felt
the dissonant
relationships
of soul
and spirit;
better them that
never learn,
than never live,
or live
without experiencing
the love,
of something
vicarious.

~Deus fortuno