Dreams of Fearful Architecture

There has been nurturing
For altered phrased
Of subjective hymns
Like crystal in a bat of grease

I prefer myself for my own
Safe keeping
And temper the world
With dislikes and phobias

And demented returns
On reinvestments
On fearful architecture
There are seared brows in the evening
Cherished as the morning brush
Sacred like stones’s smooth terms

Nothing left to store
There are no memories for the night
That weavers part the serenity from,
Like parts made for playtime
Something must be celebrated
Rectified and congregated

Before the witness has time
To discover his own path
Like a morning dream
Of weeds and careful skills
A confidante for dreams of transparency
For fearful architecture of maladroit passions