There is something that I need to see,
Something I need to write.
Is it beauty, or glory;
Maybe grace personified?
The countenance of kindness,
The colour of wrath,
The depth of desire,
The highs of pleasure,
Or the incomprehensibility of eternity?
Is it the Song of Saints,
The groan of martyrs,
The solace of icons,
The dream of missionaries,
The ego of kings,
The drive of the mad,
Or the foolishness of bigotry?

What are these words for?
Why do they spill forth?
There is so much more hidden behind these doors;
Mundane articulations hiding seismic implications.
What has this dam of a mind been holding back?

Mysteries of knowledge and wisdom;
Tales of shackles and plains;
The enduring stink of perdition;
Fleeting shadows of persecution;
The surreal fragrance of salvation;
Glorious hope of the redeemed;
The words of the final call;
The victory hymn of the Saints.