Fig to Heart

I trip and fall, my love; for such energy: such marvelous
Energy; and mystic eyes—a vocal rill; and spearic tears—a
Wellic cry. I pause and rise—a sudden verse: a web of love—
A sudden curse; and fount to heart—a flaming fence: a

Swinging sword: a soul to flinch. My rain and storm, the
Grove is dry; and dust to dirt, the birds have died; and feel
The dirge, the knell of flight: the bell of death: the kef of
Light. Inform the priest, a passion live; and block the sin—

Of screeching cries; and thirst the fruit, a faint affair: the tint
Of lust—and faint despair. I love and die; and die and love:
A feeling born: a thorn and flood; and soul to light—across
The land: a conscious flame: the grain of man; and light to
Soul, a cryptic shove: a tension vague: the cave of love; and
Fig to heart, a spoken vibe; and fated love, the hands of time.