Despite the Myth

I’m uncalm, my love. Tears have become a flame. The heart
Is pulsating. And passion, a burning storm. Thus, my comely
Art, poesy is drowning. And every syllable, a spoken myth,
For prayer—a spoken void. Thus the moon, a fallen orb. For
Light—a fetching scar. [pause] My beautiful death, I pine for
Such glamour. For ours is flare, a mythic tale. Yet and still,
The love is vibrant. Thus the panic, a burning storm. And
Depth the soul, a skyward torn. [pause] Jape the heart, my
Mystic tare. Or touch the love of psychic flare. And depth the
Ache, a waving flame. Thus the core, a seismic pain. But whet
And dight, the core of love. Thus the soul soars above.
[pause] Depth the ache, a mystic glance. Thus the soul, a
Mystic dance. And depth the heart, a mystic stance. For life,
The art of mystic chance.