Mystic Lance

Come to life, my love: activate the soul; for sullen art—the
Spark of grief; and midnight blue—the tint of peace. I love
You more, a distant wave: the fleece of ghosts: the seas of
Flame; and such a war, the webs of love; and such to knit—

The fit of gloves. My sight and soul, a mystic wheel: a tear
To fly: a pulse to feel; and cryptic volts, a cultic mind: the
Chant of wings: the brant of chimes. Indeed the core, the
Coals of thought; and love to ink, the soul was caught; and

Heart to life, the hertz of pain: the scope of dreams: the hopes
Of flame. I thirst the sun, the blood of night: a prayer to rise—
The rays of light; and nurtured zeal, a cultic rope: the cleats
Of love: a gift to float; and born to fly, a fleet of souls: adorned
In white, and draped in gold; and breath to grave, a cryptic
Dance: a subtle surge: a mystic lance.