The heart is an offtimes mysterious thing,

dangerous as sunset, bright-painted as dawn,

false-gilded in romance and love's faded song--

may we remember the moonlight

and the roads we walked from;

this is the heart that I carry,

you may gaze at it plain

for I've structured no walls,

I've no buildings to name

that are not built of love,

found through darkness and flame--

I am made of my faith, conceived in Its name

as a hell-walking creature, bent backwards

and drained, though no hate taints my lips,

and I shall not complain

for we all are our paths, and my path

is my choosing; act not with attachment,

so gaining and losing my only reward,

taking all I've been handed

and giving myself, as my faith has demanded--

and here I shall stand, a pillar of fire,

a light to the wall through your dark-driven ire--

I shall give you a hand and lift you awake,

let us pause, let us breathe, let us pray.