The soul, the fire of man

Heart raises and rises
Through the endless
Indian Summers

Come back to a pulse
Like the undead rediscovered

They say that Christ raised
And that with God are the dead

We're lost in leaflets
And passion with spreads

Like toxic flame
We submit from our chains

Until we are lifted again
As mortal pulse bends

To a near miss

And we rise
Towards the sky
Endless Phoenix wish

To fly amongst eagles
To partake in free bliss

Love of no description
No scribe can make

Serve the worth of skies
Or wait the while that exists

Passion that riles the vain
We pursue

And allow it to remake
All that we know
Make all that is new

Like happiness
To the final line

A smile
Quiet solitude
An indians short prize

The land consumes
So do we all

Keeping poise intertwined
Yeah we do all preserve

And we all often transpire
And strive towards the unheard
Righteously pressed for a timeless lit world

Blood stains the ground
Yet still a light in man

The quietude is revealed
After the thousandth lifespan

What can man offer
The kingdoms of old

Compared to God's inspiration
Of a soul and it's warmth.

Christopher Baird--all rights reserved. 

Copyright, 2013, Written on January, 2013. 

Contact me for reprint/posting permission.