A voice by faith, amazed to have breath. Cadence of sunlight, wafting winds, to flit and scud across souls. Most tender of thefts, bereft of existence, to have travelled, to have returned. Victor of death, Father of mercies, adrift like gusts, coming as you exact life. So— tender the scar, filled with venom, cleansed by breath—harsh sunshine, sweltering heat, smoldering baptism. In loving you, in chasing you, we come to expect you. When thoughts are blue, the horizon orange, and far away, we see a rainbow, we marvel at your name. By understanding, of some exclusive dream, we envision feet of bronze. Granite made supernal, excellence made immortal, by far we sense when spiritus trickles; by assistance, nudging particles, provoked by girth—of word, music, undulation—those days waiting on prophecy, to hear as they prophesied, unaccustomed to reaching faith.
Most intense segue, to speak of goodness, your arts coming into lights; you died so early on, it was pain glorified, to have trained with fervor, with zeal. A precocious seed, a menace in adolescence—sunshine Father, baptism King, unto a lady holding your spirit. To keep it to heart, to never say for justice, rendered perfection for sorrows. You cried to hear the story, you ingested the saga, surefire affectation.
Many shall criticize. Many will fall apart. Many will become enamored. The dearest power, a place in heaven, such healing if done correctly. To have known through spiritus, so tremendous those clouds, how does it look for skies to open?
