My Heart Full of Grace

In these time of duress, having clandestine pleasures, ennui prevails, as we dream of the gallows, while puffing on a hookah, filled with something I will not reveal; we foster a caricature, with maybe a slight hint of pleasure as pestilence buds forth under an invisible shield of an angel, drunk with sunlight and playing in a forest like a bird of wing, while calling on ancient idols with an admiring heart with purest essence, and that are blessed with ranks of sanctified legions having an eternal feast of throne, powers, and dominions, while realizing that pain is a nobility beyond the jaws of earth and hell, as our mortal eyes open in the morning, trying to see the fires of hell that await those of us that withdraw from troubles, during our cloudy existence, and like the lark in free flight that soars above life and understanding. My heart aches for the pleasure of loving, the most divine creature, standing alone in her window or sitting in her tree, waiting for her love to fly into her arms, with a love no one can erase, and like a liquor divine and pure, my heart full of grace.