Spirit Storm

A faceless mirror: a vibe reflection. Thus, I pray, a seraph heart.
The soul—a murky window: the mind—a conscious dream;
And I panic to feel heaven. Such fairy dust: such electricity;
And I covet the wisdom of Eve; and I wait the flaming chariot.
Love, a phantom trumpet. Such guile, a sea to quake: such
Pain, a groping prayer. I ponder over dewdrops: I fester over
Deception. Cupid thrives in sickness, amusing the cherubs. But
I muse the fragile sunset, and I grip the voiceless symbol.
Thus aflame, a psychic twilight: thus aloof, the stone of joy.  
Whittle a cypress tree: hear the image speak: ignore the vision,
And cleave to logic. Such carnage: the fields—flesh and blood.
And I panic to feel heaven: I perish to love God. Such faith, a
Cutting paradox: such privy, the nerves of fire; and we falter, a
Fey abyss; and we rise, a spirit storm; and we die, a mystic flame.