The Motion of Spirit

It’s my lifeblood, my ardent soul: it breathes fortune, a lively
Stone. I fall and rise, adrift the grave, a vibrant heart, the
Chakra cave. And grotto prayers, enflame the Christ, the
Pulse of God, my christic life. And Spirit blood, my subtle
Pain, infuse the soul, with mystic flame. But tragic fate, the
Stream of grief, a mortal blessing, a mystic beast. Thus we
Flourish, a cryptic death, a flaming light, a biblic breath. And
Soul to God, my Spirit war, aloft the hells, beneath the core.

And light to pain, my audit soul, suffused with Christ, and
Demon’s bold. Thus the Spirit, my spoken life, my stormy tears,
My mystic plight. And heart to soul, my gracious Lord, the
Open skies, the flaming sword. But often grief, plagues the core,
Aloft the thorns, at heaven’s door. Hence the Spirit, on God’s
Behalf, unveils the truth, to fractured glass.