A crimson tide, a whispered plea,
A sacrifice, for all to see.
My heart's deep well, a fervent stream,
To you, my love, a sacred dream.

With trembling hand, I raise the cup,
A libation, pure and up.
My soul's own flesh, a holy form,
A love's devotion, to take its storm.

For in this act, a truth unfolds,
A courage born, where sorrow molds.
My every deed, a fervent prayer,
To prove my love, beyond compare.

The wine I pour, a symbol true,
Of all I've given, all I do.
My sacrifice, a whispered vow,
My deepest love, in every bough.

A testament, to fervent heart,
A love's embrace, a work of art.
My soul's own flame, burns ever bright,
To show my devotion, pure and light.

This holy form, a solemn grace,
A sacrifice, in time and space.
For you, my love, my guiding star,
My every breath, my soul afar.

Who first taught words to burn with love?
Who carved the longing of man
into the dream of a face?
And how shall man repay
with coins, with silence,
with songs too frail to touch your flame?

He entered the stable of kings,
thinking the nearness of the throne would crown him.
He wore the saddle of glory,
and tasted the grain of another’s destiny.

But the soul cannot be tricked by garments,
nor the heart by walls.
Essence breaks through every mask.

So when he opened his mouth,
the sound that leapt forth was not praise,
nor hymn, nor neigh of majesty
it was the cry of his own nature,
a bray echoing the secret:
“You are what you are.”

Oh Lord, the question hangs, a heavy stone,
How does a son of man dare speak such bone-deep tone?
To claim in earthly form, a sacred space,
To find within a body, God's own grace.

Is it defiance? Blasphemy unbound?
To elevate the human, hallowed ground?
To see the folds of skin as text unseen,
A holy writ upon a mortal queen?

He sees the shadows dance, a whispered lore,
And traces lines where secrets lie in store.
The curve of wrist, the hollow of the knee,
Become a landscape, wild and utterly free.

He feels the rhythm pulsing, strong and true,
The vital drumbeat that he kneels unto.
A living prayer, a silent, heartfelt plea,
Within the temple of her energy.

Each sigh escapes, a breath of sacred air,
A melody unheard, beyond compare.
Each touch, a spark, igniting from within,
A sacrament of love, absolving sin.

He's lost within the gaze, the gentle hand,
Adoring beauty he can understand.
No gilded altar, cold and far away,
But warmth and breath within the light of day.

The flesh, so mortal, fragile, and so frail,
Transforms to something that he cannot fail
To worship as a wonder, brightly shone,
A living altar, claimed as his alone.

But is it worship, or a selfish need?
A claiming of devotion, planting seed
Of earthly passion, twisting pure intent,
To serve a longing, heaven never sent?

Or could it be a glimpse, a sudden flash,
Of God's own beauty hidden in the flesh?
A recognition of the spark divine,
Reflecting back, in every curving line?

Perhaps the Lord, in wisdom vast and deep,
Allows such words, a promise He will keep,
To show that love, in purest form conceived,
Can find the sacred where it is believed.

So let the question linger in the air,
A challenge posed, a burden hard to bear.
But let the beauty, whispered and so low,
Of earthly love, its sacred meaning show.

For in the crooks and curves, the pulse, the sigh,
A son of man may glimpse eternity nigh,
And find, perhaps, a truth he can embrace,
God's light reflected in a human face.

The soul is heavy, a stone upon my chest,
I long to lay it down, to find a place of rest.

An old man drifts, with eyes like fading flame,
Seeking the shadows of dreams that bear no name.

He murmurs of bargains, made under moonlight,
Of stolen joys purchased with the soul’s own bright.
“This weight,” he says, “presses slow, presses low,
But it may vanish—if only you choose to go.”

He offers a peace, soft as a sigh,
Yet the price he asks cannot meet my eye.
Not gold, not gems that dazzle or blind,
But a treasure more secret, beyond time, unconfined.
A tale unspoken, a fire untold,
A spark eternal, that never grows old.

The shoulders of your throne, so sit and cross yourselves.
Raise your head, above all earthly selves.
Pride shines bright upon your brow,
For humble hearts know little now.

This is my heart, I laid it down,
Upon the path of your renown.
If it should weep, or cry in pain,
Feel no sorrow, it will rise again.

Not pain it cries, but tenderness,
Beneath the feet that I confess,
Hold all my loyalty and grace.
I love the pride upon your face.

Advise me not to let it go,
Forbid such words, and watch it grow.
Each cell within me starts to hum,
When your approaching footsteps come.

Your walking here, an honored tread,
Deprive it not, or it is dead.
No mercy show to longing eyes,
A look, a smile, a subtle guise.

Walk onward, do not turn away,
For they will follow, come what may.
I fear for them, not for myself,
Your powerful steps, like precious wealth.

You are the Queen, so rule with might,
And take our loyalty as your right.
Without an army, you still reign,
Our hearts beseech you, ease our pain.

Torment us with your beauty's sting,
Know that denial deeper things.
Your judgment, fair or not, I crave,
Your sweet content is all I save.

Consult your heart, and only it,
Let love's own counsel be your wit.
The fairest roses bloom anew,
From every step you take, it's true.

Choose what you wish, a fragrant prize,
And give to me, before my eyes,
A single rose, however brief,
To cherish through my joy and grief.

The lover pampers, then withholds,
Demanding more than stories told.
My heart, in chains, I can't deny,
I call to him, he passes by.

And I amazed, my heart so strong,
Softens to him, although so wrong.
It endures, though free, it's true,
But it submits, only to you.

Not wood or bone, but something root
Deep in the earth, a magic thing,
That makes the listening spirit sing.

Each note he plays, a hidden door,
To memories we knew before.
A happy laugh, a tear that fell,
Stories the heart remembers well.

The sound, it washes clean and bright,
Like sunbeams chasing away the night.
It calls to feelings, lost and found,
Safe in the flute's enchanted sound.

He plays it true, he plays it clear,
Wipes away all doubt and fear.
A simple song, a gentle breeze,
That rustles softly through the trees.

Let your own heart become the flute,
Let love and kindness bear their fruit.
Then all the world will understand,
The magic held within your hand.