Soul Speak

The flare of tongues, a tide of tears, the wear of pain, the
Flux of fears. And spirit ghosts, the gaze of God, a phantom
Thought, to poke and prod. My vivid vex, a vixen sore,
Afraid of light, the lux of lore. And heaven hell, a secret vein,
The hand of Christ, a holy pain. My christic heart, a skeptic
Soul, a sullen faith, a thetic scroll. And iron love, the crush
Of life, the cave of bane, a cryptic wife. But pulse to flame,
The fate of wings, the frame of breath, and gothic screams.

The flare of tongues, a tide of tears, the wear of pain, the flux
Of fears. And crypt to birth, the script of saints, a sacred
Prayer, a mortal taint. My silent death, a constant dread, the
Depth of dreams, adrift the dead. And burning bright, a mystic
Flame, the breath of ghosts, the joys of rain. My heaven hell,
A secret vein, the hand of Christ, a holy pain.