Quiet my Soul

Oh quiet my soul; and heal my mind; for such a soul—longs

The sun; and such a mind—cries the moon; and what is life—

But grains of love; and what is pain—but seething lungs; and

Kiss the pearls—my weeping eyes; and perish thrice—my

Riot heart; for portraits bleed—the volts of rain; and mothers

Grieve—a dying grain; and such a soul—longs the bliss; and

Such a mind—cries the kiss; and what is love—but grains

Of life; and what is faith—but points of strife; and surge the

Flame—the grip of soul; for such a flame—soars the night;

And such a soul—roams the sky; and fuse a dream—my

Heart of light; and muse a mind—my gem and knife; and quiet

Soul—the keys of joy; and part the waves—the tombs of ploy;

And heal a wound—the weal of woe; and flip the grave—

My soul to grow.