Thought Canal

My purest thought, a gentle breeze; and voice to heart, a
Feathered wing; and probe the light, a song to sing: a
Silent scar: a private dream; and privy pain, a fleece façade:
The roots of grain: the tears of God; and fashion love, a

Heart to fly: the soul of gems: the pearls of tithes; and live
The young, the pride of youth; and trek the sky, the cries of
Fruit; and wick to flame, a thirst to soar; and feel the urge—
To surge for more. My purest thought, an angel’s web;

The tales of love—an ocean ebb; and soul to root, the
Angst of earth: the taste of grief: the face of birth; and dirge   
Of life, a need to feel: the reach of calm: the Aum of zeal;
And thought to wave, the flame of flux: a blissful pain: a
Seething touch; and solemn wish, the kiss of Christ: the
Deepest gift: the pith of life.