You
empower me, through mystic mansions, to hear the
shadow.
We’re cryptic manics, streaming through grief,
to
spawn a miracle. I felt it touch, a person of mystery,
searching
for inner cells; where knowledge speaks, to build
a
castle. Its silent darkness, the deepest breath, to vet a
pentagram.
You empower me, through mystic manics, to
feel
the shadow. We spin for gentle, an underground cave,
filled
with Wiccans and Warlocks. We feel a fever, a
similar
dynamic, to invoke a furnace. I churn a clock,
centered
nigh the gut, flitting and floating forward. You
wrench
a ghost, to embody a goddess, to tremble in trance.
We
feature this wealth, an inner wail, an outer wall. I see
it
in souls, a different you, a mystic manic. What for life,
felt
for nuance, knocking down rivers. They drip for
psyches,
to flood a gap, where we trek through crevices; for
there’s
a mansion, filled with rooms, to proffer knowledge.
There’s
two forms, where upper mingles with lower; a need
for internal balance,
skiing through sacred scrolls.
