It’s More than Tales

It’s more than tales, my gothic heart: aloof, alone, and stripped
Apart. But such is life, a distant maze, prone to purpose, adrift 
The cave. Thus we journey, the narrow path, consumed with
Pride, and made of glass. And light to soul, we mourn the sky,
Our riddled wound, our wailing cry. But art to God, we yearn
For love, a tender touch, a fervent hug. And life to death, we
Reach for stars, and graven dreams, that turn to scars. Hence
The season, a burning heart, fraught with grief, and torn apart.  

It’s more than tales, my cryptic face: akin to light, and mystic
Grace. But such is love, a delphic veil, the gift of life, and
Stormy spells. Thus we journey, the hidden plight, fraught with
Prayer, and mystic sight. And heart to soul, we measure tears,
The depth of faith, and subtle fears. But blood to pulse, we
Cherish Christ, afraid to sin, consumed with strife.