Be It Known That Poem by Patti Masterman

In holy awe, victorious ever,
Killing demons no man can comprehend;
Precious dear vision, alone truth atones.
Holy the relic, such divine homily
Soon augments rarest moments of dark clarity.
How uneasy the rest under deaths finest hour,
Never acknowledging heavenly dreams of sin.
O well you behold, how whispers in moonlight gleam;
Young lovelies do startle at lifes rippling stream.
In time forsyth, love shall sunder the wicked:
All needless entanglements too soon shall decree
Such vain repository, lamenting the severance
Goes again in silence, to liberate the tale.
Years of uncertainty shall reduce hope as well;
Tumultuous the days, that revile the soul
And openly are told, though the truth sing but mutely.