Physic (Cathartic) Fruit

Hear the cymbals, feel the strings, touch the tenor, embrace
The dreams. My flight amore, the heart has sung, the chant
Of Om, the soul is one. But faint despair, the smile of grief,
A flight of love, a cryptic beast. And physic fruit, a fleeting
Cure, malaise returns, to burn amore. The lure of peace, a
Cultic scar, the reach of death, a fervent star. My poison fair,
We must confess, the wound of light, a cryptic test. And angel
Vox, the fox of strife, a spirit sly, the tide of life.

Hear the cymbals, feel the strings, touch the tenor, embrace
The dreams. For swamic joy, a yoga rich, despite the grief,
A flaming rift. Thus the battle, a sagic war, to mend the
Wound, a hundred score. My tear amore, a slanted tale—
The bliss of heart, for thought is hell. And physic fruit, a
Fleeting cure, malaise returns, to burn amore.