Where there is mystery, the heart,
Cannot find in its lexicon the key.
Where there is pain, the soul,
Wallows desirous in a baron sea.
Where there is passion, the hand,
Trembles in the search for heaven’s gift.
Where there is lust, the eyes,
Beg for the veil to lift.
Where there is rage, the mind,
Revels in the tempestuous dance.
Where there is hope, the spirit,
Echoes a cragged trance.
Where there is joy, a man,
Must run to it, destiny as his guide,
Hounds of hell follow tirelessly
For from practicality no one can hide.
Where there is love, a woman,
Weeps at the wretched thorns,
Which crowns her bowed and bloodied head,
The lost one genuflects as misery is born.
Remains a muddled riddle to the chosen few,
Who holds the keys, the cards, answers still?
The blade teases, agony’s caress,
Stand do they on the precipice of will.
You will tell me why, and how, and when,
Will the sunlight cleave the mist,
So I may see fate in her true form,
And cease the calling of the Devil’s tryst.
I see them now, across the divide,
Embattled archers knocking their bows,
Letting slip a final volley,
To their mark? Only the Angel knows.