Wandering souls

  

On the webs of stretched poles,

 the fierce memories of my existence,

 entwined and fierce, float in order, yet reappear.

 They bear sins fallible or guilty as well as

 the orphaned restless ones,

 who can hardly care whether it is day or dark.

 Nor can the protagonists be

 more with their done things

 than mere pause-signs;

 their cages are rattled by

 wandering ghouls when they are called.

 Soberness and indecision are present

 in their behaviour,

 as well as in their trailing words.

The ornamentation of scars done needs

 the more half-hearted,

 the more all-pleasing care;

 none can want to lose unworthily

 the prayers of the sobbing true-kisses

 shed for those who yet may have

 remained faithful and pure for their humanity.

In distraught yet pleasing redemptive confusion,

 as phase shifts, the why of split confessions burst forth,

 "I need you! Don't leave me!"

 - Two silent looks of speech when

 with a single will then no excuses,

 cheap whys can count.

 In eyes disembodied still floats

 the dream of dreams: 

beneath soul-vortexes treasure-hearts

 guard absolute harmony.

 Manageable conflicts also become 

compromises to be negotiated,

 for every voice would need to be

 shaped into inner voices at the same time.

There is a constant deliberate obscuring

 of memories by manifestations of ageing;

 we can also see recognisable features being

 deliberately erased.

 From the Executioner-Death the settled

 life-wearer hides himself prudently out of sight

 - At the last judgment all will be taken out

 while the unburdened codes

 of sins and transgressions are again circulated!