My Sweetest Rose

My sweetest rose, the soul has risen, infused with love, sore
And driven. The web of dreams, a psychic slant, a mystic
Stream, a solar chant. And heart to pain, the tears of life,
Suffused with love, and nimbus light. And soul to flame, my
Gothic self, the spark of lies, akin to pelf. Thus illusion, a
Silent war, a drop of truth, an aching core. Plus afflatus, a
Cryptic net, the pulse of love, and mystic death. But truth to
God, my sweetest rose, the gift of plight, and cultic prose.

And heart to star, love is tragic, the depth of flame, a touch
Of magic. But depth the soul, a hint of pain, a fractured
Thought, a bleeding vein. And truth to light, my mystic dance,
The ache of life, a mystic glance. Plus the future, the sword
Of troy, the flame of tears, and silent joy. Hence we perish,
The storm of strife, the flare of love, the sickest plight.