Mesto Heart

Let’s jota love, by midnight rune; breathe the fire, aloft the
Moon. For mesto heart, an opus ache, the lute of tears, the
Flute of faith. Thus we saunter, a mystic maze, swift to
Passion, adrift the flames. And timbre sound, a somber soul,
The width of light, the plight of gold. But wound and rift,
The gift of Bach, a flaming fugue, a sacred knock. And
Heart to angst, the Spirit wept, a thousand years, the
Demon slept.

Thus we panic, a thousand years, a seismic pain, adrift
The fears. And soul to bane, a cultic cave, the perch of prose
The rose of flames. But mystic love, the rune of stars, a
Delphic breath, the flesh of scars. And darken strife, inflames
The heart, a cryptic muse, a brilliant spark. Thus the timbre,
A somber soul, the width of light, the plight of gold.