My Stippled Soul

My stippled soul, an image bold, the ache of tears, and splinters
Cold. I cry a river, to feel the proof, of cryptic dreams, and utter
Sooth. And heart to death, my distant flame, the breath of life,
The spirit slain. And light to soul, my fantast mind, a burning
Torch, a fallen shrine. But sanctum born, my fulgent prayer, an
Epic star, a sordid tare. And tears to God, my silent screams, a
Touch of light, and mystic streams. Thus the swivet, a knitted
Storm, the truth of life, and mortal form.

My stippled soul, an image bold, the ache of tears, and splinters
Cold. I worship Love, and feel the sore, of mystic blood, and
Spirit war. And soul to stone, my cultic scar, a bleeding wound,
A fallen star. And depth the pain, the birth of Christ, the pulse
Of faith, and graphic strife. But joy to heart, the life of love, a
Fervent flame, a well beloved.