Something Tugs the Soul

Broach the heavens, my love. Something tugs the soul. And

Sun to fall—a spirit rises. We muse the fleeting, filled with

Faith. Then the element, a fit of furry. My so distant heart, I

Ponder love, afraid to court misery. But something tugs the

Soul; and something begs the mercy. Awaken sensibilities:

Broach the heavens, my love. Such is painful joy, the fairest

Utility. But mingle the blood; else mingle the death. Such a

Claim—so bias; and such universality, every culture. And

Such brilliance, Her smile. Court a miracle, my love; else

Perish, the fleeting. For rooted fire, a resurrection; and rooted

Pain, a vocal gem. The painless—free to fumble—unaware—

The wailing pain. Such life, a bleeding joy—the fate of Judas.

Hence, broach the heavens, my love: fret not the sorrow. For

Such power, to weigh the scales; and such posture, to weigh

The winds. For something tugs the soul.