The Rhythm of Spirit

Scriptures made of marble. They penetrate the psyche. And
Love made of music, terrifies the soul. Thus alive, my
Flaming spirit; and thus deceased, my artless doubt. But
Pleated pain, a mythic wound; and floral faith, a mystic
Dream. Thus aloft, my sacral heart; and thus adorned, my
Florid soul. But depth the ache, a sacred scar; and depth the
Faith, a quilted shrine. Thus the rhythm, the light of
Darkness; and thus the darkness, the light of flame.

The seed was planted—a lyrical peace. It painted a picture,
Aloft the clouds. Thus receive, the spirit gold; and thus endure,
The tumbling rain. But feel the joy, the touch of purpose; and
Drink the pain, a christic order. Thus the source, the heart’s
Confliction; and thus the soul, a perch of thorns. Hence belief,
A fabled stream; and hence belief, a mystic trance.