A stream of primal voices
Whispering in the breeze of your heart
To urge you on.

Nothing that truly matters
Can ever evaporate,
Be excised,
Burnt out of your soul.

The gilded spiral
Of longings within.
Our very own cathedral
That points persistently to heaven.

Sense how
Even the smooth stones ache
With stories of their own
In the shuddering light of day.

Here, illuminated at last,
Nestles the ruddy glint of spiritual certainty;
Sweet moments of passion and healing,
Of sensual release.

There can be no law of nature, no science,
No aberrant infliction of human will
That unchained the soul cannot conquer,
Simply sweep away, should it chose to.