Inner Castle

My mystic vision: such an intense spark. We perish the flight;

And waltz the clouds. The sky—a miracle: the soul—a portal;

And we fly—a slow death; and we trek—a red valley; and so

Much to die, my life; and so much to favor, my mind; and

Dear, my Ghost, mother said; and my sorest riddle: twenty-five

Scars; and we perish this life, and live this death—fraught with

Spirit; and such ease to cry, a prophet’s breath; and such tears

To die, a villain’s prayer; and what this sinner, an omen’s joy;

And what a repent, to transform; and flowerbeds, fraught tears;

And resurrection, a daily vision; and father’s sorrow—a

Bleeding grave—a mystic cry—a will to fly; and never this

Birth; and never this breath; and such a war: my wailing Ghost;

And such a life, a thirst for Truth; and walk the death, the wings

To soar; and face the Light, the grit to ask.