Epistle Iv - the Golden Triad

(I) We extend our palms our fingers tips approach the shadowed altar eagerly anticipating the opulent outpour (II) As the Holy Spirit courses through our tainted goblets we shed transgression's slithering veneer digging ourselves out of covetous morass (III) The saffron silk veil slips and lo! We stand stripped clean of all externalities, as unvarnished clay aching for the rite of crimson resurrection (IV) We submerge ourselves into the fountain brimming with deep red renewal, only to shoot up to the surface as untouched doves nesting atop Lebanese cedars we are ripened by immortality's elixir (V) We are the freshwater reservoir whose waves gush inwards resuscitating the asphyxiated foliage of our inner vineyards (VI) Our nascent buds erupt into song, belting a trio of notes stretched across a chasm of octaves to form Providence's golden triad