Gothic Breath

Inflame the kiln, bleed and mourn, suffuse the dead, birth
The storm. For art to life, my zenic muse, the flame of flare,
Such mystic blues. And depth the ether, a gem-ic curse, the
Fruit of scars, the omen’s worth. And coffin born, the rise of
Death, my blood and tears, a spiteful breath. But wise to fall,
My gothic feat, my tomb to stone, my mystic pleat. And flame
To weed, such bleeding wit, the cloth of fears, and tears to fit. And
Steeple born, my rising death, affixed to flame, a spiteful breath.
 
Inflame the kiln, bleed and mourn, suffuse the dead, birth
The storm. For heart to cry, an omic life, the flame of flare, a
Mystic light. And depth the soul, a silken tare, the gift of plight,
The light of prayer. And coffin born, akin to die, the web of life, a
Mystic eye. But true to fall, my bleeding soul, affixed to death,
And flaming cold.