Collisions

make all conflicts to melodies,

break through this clime,

we fell amid awful shadow,

slowly into one another,

bewitching enigma,

the old world's attire belongs among them,

singing as though an angel's grace is useless and broken,

but that which conquered death shall draw me down to knee,

some old sorrow to relieve the chances missed as we dance among the mortal clay,

back from her beginnings, disappointments of love and virtue reach for all who lay under its headstone and extinguished words,

"dread not thy heart's ache,

in hopeless longing lives the lesson",

little more than mortal voices lost between the sound of you and me,

within our hands a promise held,

made to eternally be,

but writhen is love and mercy,

as one above and far below,

a song of collisions may well beseem thy soul,

by virtue hath made ready at once,

a poet's heart surely must go further than love's own domain;

and brighter days are ahead somewhere on our way back home.

He Writes Love

-Xtian