Assuage the Soul

Assuage the soul, my sacral love: infuse the heart, my opus
Dove. For wounded wing, the yearn to fly, to soar the skies,
Deep inside. My fable dream, aloft the clouds, a vision fair,
A passion wild. And web aflare, the wrap of flame, the ache
Of tears, the pulse of pang. But feyic wounds, enflame the
Sword, a fantast wave, to heal the sore. And vatic flare, a
Prophet torn, the blood of Christ, a cultic storm. And depth
The cave, the angst of pain, the pride of death, the kef of flame.

Assuage the soul, my sacral love: infuse the heart, my opus
Dove. For strum to core, the dance of fear, a glint of God,
The surge of tears. My photic star, the arc of flare, the pulse
Dreams, a faint despair. And flame to wave, the wings of
Light, the lope of love, the prose of flight. But depth the cave,
The angst of pain, the pride of death, the breath of bane.