Twain the Ghost

A sophic slant, a healin’ grace, the bliss of pang, a dual face.
And heart to God, a fruit aflame, a cogent tear, the spirit
Slain. My future death, a subtle ghost, a potent dream, a
Biblic pulse. And passion rain, the pain of Christ, a soul to
Weep, a fated light. My ache aflare, a Samson cry, a fire
Mass, a pang to fly. And thus a wave, the bane of faith, the
Flight of love, the rift of grace. For twain the Ghost, a
Portrait grey, the flux of light, the vox of fey. 

A sophic slant, a healin’ grace, the bliss of pang, a dual face.
And life to pain, the art of joy, a question bold, a phantom
Coy. And christic flame, the myth of love, the heart of
Flare, the glare of blood. And dellic wings, a riddled walk,
A logic faint, a bleeding thought. For twain the Ghost, a
Portrait grey, the flux of light, the vox of fey.