The Spirit’s Afoot

It’s a mystery, the color of screams. And every scar, a mortal
Blessing. Thus speak of visions, oh wounded soul; touch
The heart, oh wounded light; for love, a shattered dream. And
Such reality swells the Spirit; whereby flux, a cosmic dance;
And mystic screams, aflame the temple; thus the soul, adrift
The spirit; and life, a cultic flare. Its angst and anguish, pain
And fortune, love and faith, tears and bliss. Thus the soul, a
Flaming shrine; and Spirit, a cultic miracle.

It’s a mystery, the color of screams. It moves the soul and
Touches spirit. Thus the heart, a hidden language; and tears, a
Sacred shrine. Mystic madness afflicts the core. But tortured
Souls adorned in gold. Thus the wound, a holy scar; and
Chapel flames, adrift the stars. Cultic eyes, discern the Spirit,
Set aflame by mystic lyric.