Silent Soul II

Absorb the chant: project the flame. Such inquiry, a mortal
Flute. And such serenity, a purposed pang; else the waves,
A cauldron storm. And I flail a dream, afraid to love. For
Lyre wings, a portal flare, an angel’s pain, a Sunday prayer.
My silent soul, a chorus soft, adrift the hells, a subtle tear.
Indeed, the hurt, a flaming sea, and we die—a floating
Cloud. Ope the soul: decipher truth; for such a voice, a
Forest trope. My silent soul, a pressure gaze, a tragic calm,
A vision grey. And we die, the girth of life, awake to sin,
A bleeding light. But tragic calm, a myrtle death, a seraph
Sore, a burning welt. Thus the light, a mystic red, a sketch
Aflame, an attic flare. My silent soul, a ferric wave, a
Passion art, a phantom cave. And cauldron storm, a motive
Raw, a wellic touch, a haunting charm.