Within me screeches a woman on fire - consumed by a violent rage and doused in a fury like gasoline.

While the softest snow falls on boughs evergreen,
Glittering white, untouched and pristine.
Through forest and glen the four winds do blow,
Whispering Yule song on the wings of a crow.

Over rooftops and chimneys, curling with smoke,
Where inside the hearth's log is sure to be stoked.
As merry men dream, tucked away in their beds,
The rays of morning begin to shed.

And the hushed spell of night is slowly undone,
The land is a prism beneath morning sun.
Glistening, radiant - a sight to behold,
A crisp winter scenery starts to unfold.

Your love is of a sacred kind, that leaves me basking in the afterglow of your longing embrace.
There I find myself alight with emotions so radiant that their golden rays burst forth from my ribcage as if holy arrows have pierced my very soul.
And it is in your divine light that I wish to remain ever more.

Hell is not fire, nor brimstone,
It is not of devils and sin.
Hell is far more personal,
Too raw and real within.
Hell is a prison for tortured souls,
Constructed of flesh and of bone.
Hell is dark and deep,
The only place you're ever truly alone.
Hell is where your demons dance,
Along a wicked line.
Hell is where your agony,
Hides behind the words "I'm fine."

In your eyes, I see a contrast of hues that paint the windows of your soul like stained glass paints the inner walls of a church in the early rays of morning - a kaleidoscope of heavenly light.