To Ponder Volts

A fallen volt, my soul, and so many fragments. The castle,
A mystic flame; and she raises glory, a tinted love. Oh the
Texture, a dying heart; and oh the wave, a plangent kiln.   

But depth the well, a wetless rain: ours—the vat of dreams.
Abound, my love; afflict the doubt; for death, a silent spark,
And life, a filtered woe. 

We died the flame, a frequent flight, afraid to beg for mercy.   
Our fate, a feral beast: our ache, a fractured pulse. Oh the
Flame, a flagon prayer, and we die a glory born.

Such the cultic touch: a turquoise sky: a floret love. And the
Bone, a ghostly voice. Our cloud, a desert shade: our verse,
A cryptic volt; and we die eternal.

Thus the agony, a dual beat: and thus the joy, a partial friend.
And depth the wind, a volume volt, a vetted flame.