Secret

Crimson river, tide so wide, mucilage aged in thee Blessed be the one to pray against the raging sea Pusillanimous feelings, no honor, resting in an ossified wind Redemption begets the soil destined for sin Back away, crush the inside mold, break the pattern Hot iron strikes the furious percipient mind in discern Distrust the dogmatic absolute, praise be it in me Fretful art thou, take flight in haunted melodies “What is this?” you asked with such hateful discontent A safe haven of admiration and respectful reverence or contempt Be it may or be it not, it consumes thy heart with ravaged pain “Does thou have faint of heart with discourse for bloodstain?” Sanctify, anoint, consecrate or be damned Haphazardly except the secrets passed on hand to hand The ambiguity of said consecration only impairs judgment So beware what you wish for it may arise in malcontent