sort of old-fashioned :x 
but that's how i tend to write poems. <.<
The soul to heaven shouts aloud; the heavenlies spring to life,
The spirit calls unto the halls of highest Paradise.
The heart stands free; chained not to thee, the sinful, toilsome Earth.
The mind avows to stain not now this being from new birth.
The deadly thing `twixt person, King, the blackest curse is shattered;
The psyche to sing, bloods praises ring, flees now from earthly matters.
While blue cathedral watches, waits; the fire flickers, grows;
The only way our debts to pay, as red as blossomed rose.
The cord of one is fast undone, the braid of two stands fast;
Though all ones deeds may come to naught, a joint endeavor lasts.
The highest praise to live the days by every sacred word,
None shakes the faith of those who wait and act on holy terms.
The mortal, fleeting strands of time are crumbled by a glance
And silence stands to slow the hands compelled by feverish dance.
So quick to see the time-bound three of me, myself, and I;
No stranger to the dying things which beckon me to die.
One difference now, on every side an unlit fire waits,
The flame in me cries out to be the one who helps create;
While time goes on, the moments fall like rain on dismal lake,
A mirror image, dimly seen by those who make mistakes.
The great endeavor waxes, wanes; the light has suffered, grown;
Pray God, to thee, may all who see my light know Who has shone.
Though twisted shadows swiftly fall; and conscience meets with grief;
To throne of white, `tis my delight to crawl for sweet relief.
The fountain stands, stained by the hands torn by my unrepentance;
No deeds needs He, who set me free, no terms but acquiescence.
but that's how i tend to write poems. <.< The soul to heaven shouts aloud; the heavenlies spring to life,
The spirit calls unto the halls of highest Paradise.
The heart stands free; chained not to thee, the sinful, toilsome Earth.
The mind avows to stain not now this being from new birth.
The deadly thing `twixt person, King, the blackest curse is shattered;
The psyche to sing, bloods praises ring, flees now from earthly matters.
While blue cathedral watches, waits; the fire flickers, grows;
The only way our debts to pay, as red as blossomed rose.
The cord of one is fast undone, the braid of two stands fast;
Though all ones deeds may come to naught, a joint endeavor lasts.
The highest praise to live the days by every sacred word,
None shakes the faith of those who wait and act on holy terms.
The mortal, fleeting strands of time are crumbled by a glance
And silence stands to slow the hands compelled by feverish dance.
So quick to see the time-bound three of me, myself, and I;
No stranger to the dying things which beckon me to die.
One difference now, on every side an unlit fire waits,
The flame in me cries out to be the one who helps create;
While time goes on, the moments fall like rain on dismal lake,
A mirror image, dimly seen by those who make mistakes.
The great endeavor waxes, wanes; the light has suffered, grown;
Pray God, to thee, may all who see my light know Who has shone.
Though twisted shadows swiftly fall; and conscience meets with grief;
To throne of white, `tis my delight to crawl for sweet relief.
The fountain stands, stained by the hands torn by my unrepentance;
No deeds needs He, who set me free, no terms but acquiescence.
