Hidden Joy

A violent volt, a vivid wave, a ghostly chant, the brant  of
Flame. My swamic soul, adrift to soar, an ear to voice, my
Hoist amore. And omic flight, the halt of pain, the ache of
Light, the height of bane.  For soul to arc, a cycle bare, a
Blatant bruise, a rippled prayer. My orphic mind, a subtle
Wound, a flaming scroll, a web of gloom. But face to fate,
A fractured wing, the wring of heart, a wretched scream. And
Sophic flight, the arm of pang, a torch affect, a fluid flame.

A violent volt, a vivid wave, a ghostly chant, the brant of
Flame. My zenic soul, a field of war, the blood of life, a
Ruptured core. And torn alive, the pride of grit,  the fount
Of hope, the soul adrift. But Bishop Prayer, a fire born, a
Phantom wave, a spirit storm. And thus the arc, a silver coin,
A twain affect, a hidden joy. 

Brant: geese. Used as a trope for flight.
Bane: irritation. 
Grit: strong character.