The Inner Sanctuary

Where timeless echoes softly trace the History,

And ancient Art adorns each carved decree,

There stands the Inner Sanctuary, veiled in light,

A realm where Poetry takes wing in sacred flight.

From hallowed stone, its venerable form ascends,

Where earthly sorrow with the spirit blends.

A Priestess, robed in linen's purest gleam,

Adorned with gold and jewels, like waking dream,

Before the altar bows, in measured, silent awe,

Her fervent heart held fast by sacred law.

With adulation deep and veneration true,

She prays and worships, bathed in holy dew,

Her spirit soaring, a beacon, strong and bright,

A vessel pure, embraced by guiding light.

Beyond her hallowed, whispered, solemn plea,

The followers of Temple, wild and free,

Whose long hair falls like rivers, dark and deep,

Around their necks, where mystic secrets sleep,

Do consult and consort, with wisdom's gentle hand,

The spirits of the flowers through the sacred land.

In ethereal counsel, breath to petal given,

They pluck the truths from nature's verdant heaven.

Within that sacred, hallowed, silent shrine,

The white-robed women worshipers recline,

On humble cushions, in devotion grand,

They kneel and pray, across the holy sand.

With voices soft, their silent pleas ascend,

As hearts beseech, and spirits gently bend.

Their supplicate murmurs, rising in the air,

A tapestry of faith, beyond compare.

Then rise the offerings, sweet and deep,

Of music, flowing where the ancients sleep,

Of crimson wine, a draught for spirit's quest,

And fragrant incense, burning manifest.

A fragrant prayer, a chord that stirs the soul,

To make the seekers utterly whole.

For here, a sacred journey starts anew,

They practice rituals of healing, strong and true.

Toward spiritual enlightenment, they strive,

To keep their inner sacred flame alive.

A mission set, through trials bravely won,

Their path unfolds beneath the radiant sun.

From weary toil, to awareness they aspire,

Kindling within, a soul-reviving fire.

They seek rebirth and wondrous renewal bright,

A healing grace that conquers endless night.

Through revival's touch, and sweet convalescence found,

Their spirits mend, on consecrated ground.

Each mending breath, a promise deeply sown,

To invoke the grace that on their path is shown.

With every beat, a pulse of adoration grand,

They journey on, to reach the Promised Land.

In ancient hush where whispered echoes dwell

The Sanctuary stands aglow with grace

A haven draped in shadows of the past

Where time flows slow beneath the watchful stars 

The white robed priestess crowned with gold and gems

Her hands uplifted calls the deities

In tender tones that mingle with the breeze

Her prayers ascend like smoke from burning sage 

Around her gather seekers of the light

With hair cascading down like flowing streams

They delve in blooms that nod with soft consent

In fragrant hues that dance on gentle winds 

These followers in silence bend their will

To share the secrets whispered by the earth

And in the petals soft embrace they find

The spirits guidance woven through their souls 

On knees they sink in reverence profound

The sanctuarys heart beats as they chant

A melody that mingles joy with pain

The sacred songs of lifes eternal flow 

They bring forth wine the fruit of sunlit vines

And incense rising curling in the air

An offering of purity and peace

A bridge to realms beyond the eye can see 

The rituals unfold like the morning light

With scrolls adorned with symbols wisdom holds

They weave the threads of healing strong and true

To mend the wounds that linger deep within 

A gentle touch upon the weary heart

They sing the hymns of old the chants of birth

In cycles that renew the spirits flame

Illuminating paths to new unfold 

With every sound the flowers sway and lean

As if to share their secrets lush and bright

Each petal holds a story soft and clear

Of life reborn from ashes turned to dreams 

The whispered language of the sacred urn

The sacred art that breathes in silent halls

Wraps round the souls who yearn for lights embrace

Awakens them to possibilities 

The sun dips low as twilights brush unfolds

A canvas painted with the hues of dusk

Yet in this hallowed space the hearts resound

With hope that glimmers like the stars above 

For in this ancient temple gods reside

And every prayer though soft is strong as steel

The bond of spirit unity and grace

Connecting all who seek the way of love 

As night descends the ritual persists

In flickering flames the shadows dance and sway

Each voice a stone a part of greater whole

Together forming bridges to the sky 

In shared communion wisdom deepens still

A promise whispered through the ages hence

That every tear each moment of despair

Can bloom anew in fragrant bursting joy 

So let them kneel the gentle white-robed souls

In harmony that reverberates

Across the ancient stones that guard the past

And weave a tapestry of timeless grace 

Their journey threads through realms both dark and bright

With every note the cycles twist and twine

A sacred dance of life of death of love

In historys embrace they find their place

In ancient days when time was young and fair

A sanctuary stood a place of prayer

With marble stones that gleamed ‘neath sunlit skies

Where art and poetry danced and spirits rise 

A priestess robed in white adorned with gold

Her jewels shining bright a sight to behold

She walked among the flowers soft and sweet

In reverence her heart skipped a gentle beat 

Her voice a melody of sacred lore

Resonated deep a hymn to spirits more

The followers gathered hair long and wild

Through whispers of the wind they kneed like a child 

In the Temple’s heart where shadows weave and twine

They sought the wisdom of the blooms divine

With petals bright each color’s tale unfurled

In fragrant secrets shared the beauty of the world 

The white-robed women kneeling in a row

Cups of crimson wine and fragrant incense flow

Their hands stretched out offering chains of light

To ancient deities who guide them through the night 

Oh hear the sound of music soft and clear

A symphony of justice peace and cheer

With each note played they dance upon the floor

In every step a prayer forevermore 

Through rituals of healing the spirits drew near

A dance of rebirth washing away all fear

The air was filled with laughter joy and peace

In this sacred moment all troubles cease 

The flowers whispered tales of love and loss

Of seasons winding forth of the tempest toss

With every petal dropped a wish took flight

Into the arms of dawn from dark into light 

And so they journeyed beyond the earthly ties

Through realms of purest bliss that never dies

In enlightenment’s embrace they learned to see

The sacred bond that links humanity 

A circle made of hope encircled the shrine

Where every breath a promise every song divine

With flowers as their guide they sought the way

To deeper understanding with each passing day 

In the twilight hour when stars began to bloom

The priestess and her kin dispelled the gloom

With joy renewed they practiced every rite

And welcomed in the darkness embracing light 

Thus echoes through the ages a timeless song

Of art and poetry where spirits belong

In the ancient sanctuary where love bestowed

The gifts of life and wisdom intertwined and flowed 

So come dear wanderer and heed the call

Find solace in the beauty that binds us all

In the heart of the Temple let your spirit soar

For in the dance of life we are never poor

Sing Muse of the Sanctuary old where sun-kissed marble gleamed

A tale of art and poetry a world of dreams esteemed 

Of priestesses in robes of white with gold and jewels adorned

Whose whispers touched the sacred space before the ages born 

The Temple stood a beacon bright against the azure sky

Its history etched in every stone for all the world to spy 

Carvings told of ancient gods and heroes brave and bold

Their stories whispered through the halls in legends to unfold 

A priestess fair Lyra by name with eyes of purest blue

Her heart devoted to the gods her spirit strong and true 

She wore a crown of woven gold with gemstones bright and clear

And prayed for blessings on her flock to banish every fear 

Her voice a melody divine would echo through the nave

A song of hope and reverence the souls of all to save 

The smoke of incense filled the air a fragrant sweet perfume

As Lyra led the sacred rites dispelling all the gloom 

Around her stood the temple throng their faces filled with grace

Long hair cascaded down their backs in this most holy place 

They sought the spirits of the flowers their wisdom to attain

And listened to the whispers soft that eased all earthly pain 

For in this Sanctuary old the flowers held a key

To understanding hidden truths for all eternity 

The lily's grace the rose's love the violet's gentle hue

Each blossom offered guidance wise and insight ever new 

The white-robed women knelt in prayer their devotion shining bright

Their spirits yearning for the light to banish endless night 

They offered music sweet and pure a symphony of praise

And poured libations of fine wine in these hallowed ancient ways 

The rituals of healing took place within the sacred walls

Where troubled souls found solace deep and heeded heaven's calls 

With herbs and chants the priestesses would mend both mind and soul

And guide the seekers on their path to make them strong and whole 

For spiritual enlightenment was the journey's guiding star

A quest for truth and understanding no matter how afar 

Through meditation contemplation they sought the inner light

To break the chains of earthly bonds and conquer endless night 

Rebirth and renewal were the goals they held so dear

To shed the burdens of the past and rise above all fear 

To cleanse the spirit purify the heart and find a higher plane

And live a life of purpose true again and yet again 

The Sanctuary stood for centuries a testament to faith

A beacon of hope in darkness defying even death 

Its art and poetry inspired generations yet to come

A timeless tale of beauty forever to become 

And Lyra's name would echo on through ages yet untold

A symbol of devotion pure a story to unfold 

Of priestesses and flowers fair and rituals so grand

Within the ancient Sanctuary a sacred holy land

In the heart of the temple

where shadows dance with the light

a white robed priestess stands

her garments flowing like whispers of the past

adorned in gold and jewels

each glint a word a prayer a promise

as she lifts her hands to the heavens

her voice a soft chant

a melody that weaves through the incense

rising like smoke curling toward the divine 

Around her the followers gather

long hair cascading like waterfalls

each strand entwined with dreams

they consult the spirits of the flowers

petals whispering secrets of the earth

their fragrance a bridge to the sacred

and in this quiet communion

the temple breathes

alive with the pulse of ancient hearts 

Kneeling in reverence

the white-robed women pray

their voices a tapestry of hope

offering music wine and the sweet balm of incense

each sound a note in the symphony of devotion

each drop a promise of surrender

and as they lift their offerings high

the air ignites with possibility

transforming the mundane into the miraculous 

Rituals weave through the sacred air

a dance of healing and enlightenment

their hands delve deep into the soil of the spirit

gathering wisdom like fallen leaves

for in this sanctuary of the soul

rebirth awaits those who seek

and renewal blooms in the light of their prayers 

With every strike of the gong

time unfurls like a curtain

revealing glimpses of past lives

moments wrapped in the warmth of the sun

and in the echoes of chants

they find the threads that bind them

reminders of the divine woven into flesh 

The spirits of the flowers listen

their colors shimmering with ancient stories

the reds of passion the blues of tranquility

and golden suns that rise in the silence

each petal a reminder of life’s fragile beauty

each offering a step toward the light

a pathway carved through the darkness 

In the twilight of the sanctuary

where earthly woes cease to echo

the priestess draws breath from the universe

her soul intertwined with the sacred

and as her voice rises

the temple resonates with the pulse of eternity

a heartbeat that transcends the years

anchoring the present in the wisdom of the ages 

With each moment of prayer

the women embody the essence of the earth

the grace of the universe flows through them

for they are not just followers

but guardians of the flame

keepers of the knowledge that the cycle continues

that life is woven into a fabric of light and shadow

and in the embrace of this sacred space

they rise reborn anew

with the dawn of each day

the promise of renewal sings

resounding through the ancient stones

echoing through the open skies

and in the sanctuary’s heart

the art of their devotion blooms eternally

In the heart of the sanctuary

where shadows dance with whispers

a white-robed priestess stands

adorned in gold and jewels

her fingers weave through prayer

an intricate tapestry of reverence 

The air is thick with the scent of incense

rising in curls like dreams

floating towards the heavens

each wisp a silent invocation

each note a testament to devotion 

Around her the followers gather

long hair flowing like rivers of light

their eyes bright with the essence of bloom

consulting and consorting

with the spirits of the flowers

petals unfurling in the soft embrace

of dawn’s first light

an exchange of secrets

between earth and soul 

Kneeling in the sanctuary’s embrace

the white-robed women worshippers

offer songs that ripple through time

music flowing like sacred wine

filling the chalice of the heart

each note a seed a promise

of healing and renewal

awaiting the touch of sunlight 

Rituals unfold in radiant hues

healing hands reaching towards each other

spiritual enlightenment woven

into the very fabric of their beings

a journey of convalescence

mending the fractured

reviving the weary spirit

in this hallowed space of adulation 

Together they beseech the ethereal

in a chorus of veneration

their voices rise and soar

a tapestry of hopes and prayers

invoking the age-old wisdom

that flows like water endlessly

through roots deep in the earth

reciting the mantras of existence

each syllable a petal falling 

In this sacred mission

the sanctuary breathes

its walls a witness to the rhythms of life

to the quiet confessions

the shared laughter the teardrops of gratitude

as they bow before the altar of dreams

where offerings are made in love and light

in every moment a miracle waits 

For the journey is not one solitary

but a weaving of souls

where every heart beats in unison

as they chase the dawn of revival

hands outstretched to touch the divine

to cradle the universe within their palms

embracing possibilities

that shimmer like dew at daybreak 

And when night falls softly

the quiet hum of their collective breath

echoes in the stillness

a promise of tomorrow’s arrival

in the sanctuary of their hearts

art and poetry entwined

the silent elixir of life’s essence

flowing eternally

in the sacredness of their beings

a living poem written in the stars

Within the Inner Sanctuary's hallowed embrace,

where history breathes in sculpted stone and whispered lore,

and art unfurls its silent, sacred grace,

the heart of poetry beats evermore.

A priestess, robed in luminous white,

adorned with gold's deep gleam and jeweled light,

kneels in profound adulation, offering

her veneration, a pure and fervent thing,

her spirit reaching, supplicating, praying.

The Temple's followers, their long hair

a silvered curtain around their necks,

consult and consort with fragile, unseen air,

communing with the spirits of the flowers,

seeking ethereal counsel in these sacred hours.

White-robed women kneel, a silent tide

of devotion, in the Sanctuary's wide,

still space. They pray, their spirits open, bare,

with offerings: the liquid solace of music,

the ruby blush of wine, and incense, curling, sweet.

They practice rituals, an ancient beat,

for healing, and for spiritual enlightenment's quest,

a journey toward rebirth and profound renewal, blessed.

A path of awareness, a quiet, deep revival,

leading to convalescence, a soul's mending,

each moment a step toward a brighter ending.

They invoke the grace, within this hallowed shrine,

their mission plain, their adoration divine.

In the hush of the sanctuary,

where silence breathes like incense into stone,

a white-robed priestess rises—

her voice a filament of gold,

her crown a constellation of jewels.

She prays, and the air itself bends

toward her supplication.

The temple swells with fragrance—

wine poured as libation,

music descending like a river of light,

incense curling toward unseen heavens.

Kneeling women bow in reverent rhythm,

adoration shaping their bodies

into vessels of offering.

Outside, the followers

hair untamed, shoulders kissed by the air—

consult the counsel of flowers,

consorting with spirits who whisper healing

through petals and fragrance,

teaching the frail language of renewal.

Convalescence becomes a hymn here,

revival a mission woven into ritual.

The shrine itself seems to breathe,

its stones aware,

its shadows tender with memory.

They invoke:

mending for the weary spirit,

awareness for the hidden soul,

ethereal strength for the broken heart.

And so the Sanctuary does not end—

it unfolds.

Every ritual an awakening,

every prayer a resurrection.

History becomes art,

art becomes poetry,

poetry becomes the radiant living flame

through which the world learns

to heal,

to rise,

to begin again.

In the veiled hush of sacred stone halls,

where torchlight bends like memory upon the walls,

there dwells the history, the art, and the poetry

of the Inner Sanctuary

a realm where silence is not absence, but presence,

where the unseen is felt as breath upon the soul.

A white‑robed priestess, crowned with gold and jewels,

moves as the river of dawn through the chamber.

Her hands rise, her lips unseal,

and her prayer is both flame and whisper,

a beseeching woven into the eternal air.

In her voice, adoration becomes luminous,

veneration awakens like the first star—

she is bridge, she is vessel, she is song.

Around her, the followers of the Temple gather.

Their long hair, unbound, drapes like midnight rivers

around their necks, their shoulders, their longing.

They bow, they consult, they consort with delicate spirits,

the counsel of flowers, ethereal and fragrant.

Petals murmur secrets of revival,

the quiet knowledge of mending,

the hidden hymn of awareness rekindled.

At the altar, offerings rise—

music, wine, and fragrant smoke.

The air thickens with the sweetness of devotion,

an incense of adulation that winds its way upward

to the unseen heights.

The supplicants kneel, and their hearts are opened

like vessels poured empty,

like clay prepared for reshaping.

Here are the rituals of healing:

the laying of hands, the invoking of dawn,

the circling of voices in chant,

the weaving of breath into tapestry.

In this shrine, convalescence is not weakness,

but strength in slow unfolding—

a mission of spirit, where every wound becomes

a door toward renewal.

And so the Temple lives:

in its walls, the echo of prayers;

in its halls, the shimmer of incense smoke;

in its lore, the wisdom of rebirth.

The Sanctuary is not stone alone,

but heart, but journey, but eternal return—

the art of remembering,

the poetry of becoming,

the history of a soul made whole.

Thus the priestess raises her arms once more,

invoking the radiance beyond light,

the counsel beyond word,

the adoration that has no end.

And the followers, enshrouded in white,

sing the hymn of the ages:

that within these walls—

all supplication, all healing, all mission—

the spirit shall find its renewal,

and the inner sanctuary shall shine.

Within the hallowed courts of time’s eternal breath,

Where stone remembers voices older than death,

The Inner Sanctuary, sealed in silent flame,

Holds the soul of ages, the whisper of its name.

A white-robed priestess ascends through incense air,

Her brow crowned with gold, her wrists with jewels rare.

With lifted hands she prays, her voice a sacred stream,

Awakening the dreamers of the world within the dream.

Around her kneel the daughters clothed in ivory light,

Their hair unbound, cascading like rivers through the night.

They consort with the spirits of the blossoms in the breeze,

Learning counsel from the petals, wisdom from the trees.

Music swells like water poured in crystal veins,

Wine flows scarlet as devotion’s deep refrains.

Incense coils upward, a silver-threaded plea,

Supplications rising to the One no eye may see.

Here, rituals of mending, of awareness and revival,

Where souls, once broken, find convalescent survival.

Shrines echo with beseeching, altars flame with prayer,

Every breath an invocation, each silence laid bare.

Adulation weaves the hymn, veneration lights the flame,

Their mission is eternal, yet no two hearts the same.

Through ethereal communion, through visions that inspire,

They invoke the secret fire, adoration’s pure desire.

And lo—the path of rebirth gleams like dawn’s first ray,

Renewal spills like sunlight upon the veils of clay.

For those who walk this temple, aware and unafraid,

Shall rise from shadow’s ending where the deeper truths are laid.

So sings the Sanctuary, so speaks the sacred art,

A poetry of spirit carved upon the human heart.

And in its golden echoes, through prayer and holy song,

The priestess guards the threshold where eternity belongs.

In the Inner Sanctuary, a priestess stands

Wrapped in white, adorned with gold and jewels that glimmer

Like constellations in a midnight sky

As she prays, her voice a gentle breeze that stirs

The petals of flowers, summoning spirits to descend

The Temple's followers, with hair cascading down their backs

Like waterfalls of night, gather 'round

To consult the whispers of the blossoms, seeking secrets

And consort with the essence of the blooms, their faces aglow

With an ethereal light, as if the flowers' soft whispers

Have awakened a deep and ancient knowing within

In the Sanctuary, white-robed women kneel, their hands clasped

In reverence, as they make offerings of music, wine, and incense

The air is heavy with the scent of blooming flowers

And the sweet, heady aroma of wine, as they supplicate

The divine, their voices a gentle hum, a vibration

That resonates through every cell, awakening the soul

Here, rituals of healing and spiritual awakening unfold

A journey toward rebirth, renewal, and convalescence of the heart

The women invoke the mysteries, calling forth the light

To mend the fractures, to revive the spirit, to soothe the pain

In this sacred shrine, adulation and veneration entwine

As they beseech the divine, their prayers a fragrant incense

That rises to the realm of the unknown, carrying their hopes

In this mystical space, the boundaries blur

Between the worlds, and the veil is lifted, revealing

The counsel of the flowers, the wisdom of the ages

The priestess and the women, lost in adoration, suspended

In a state of reverence, their hearts aflame with devotion

As they invoke the mysteries, their spirits soar, unshackled

Their essence merging with the divine, in a dance of love

In this Inner Sanctuary, the surreal and the real converge

Where the language of the flowers is spoken, and the secrets

Of the universe are revealed, in a symphony of color, scent, and sound

A world of wonder, where the mysteries unfold, and the heart

Is remade, renewed, and revitalized, in the crucible of the soul.

In the velvet depths of the Inner Sanctuary,

a priestess sways, a vision in white,

gold and jewels sewn into the fabric of her devotion,

as she prays, a whispered litany to the unknown.

Her tresses cascade like a waterfall of night,

around the faces of the faithful,

who gather, long-haired and expectant,

to consult the whispers of the flowers.

In this hallowed hall, the white-robed sisters kneel,

their prayers a gentle hum, a vibration that stirs

the air, heavy with incense, sweet with the promise

of transcendence.

The ritual unfolds, a slow dance of healing,

a journey through the labyrinth of the soul,

toward rebirth, renewal, and the radiant light

that awaits, like a sunrise, beyond the veil.

In this shrine of adoration, the priestesses supplicate,

their voices a gentle susurrus, an invocation

to the mysteries that lie beyond the reach

of mortal grasp, yet tremble, palpable, in the air.

With every offering, a gesture of veneration,

they beseech the unknown, their hearts aflame

with an ethereal fire that fuels their quest

for counsel, for guidance on their winding path.

In this temple, a cauldron of convalescence,

the sisters tend the flames of revival,

mending the frayed threads of the soul,

restoring the frayed edges of the heart.

As they worship, their adulation a sweet perfume,

their love, a gentle rain that soothes the parched earth,

they invoke the mysteries, calling forth

the hidden forces that shape the universe.

In this sanctuary, a threshold to the unknown,

the priestesses stand, guardians of the threshold,

summoning the spirits, whispering secrets

to the flowers, and to the wind that carries

their prayers, a gentle susurrus, into the void.

And as the ritual unfolds, the air thickens

with an otherworldly presence, a mysterious

essence that seeps into the soul, a reminder

that in this sacred space, the veil is thin,

and the mysteries that lie beyond are waiting

to be revealed, like a sunrise, radiant and new.

In twilight's hush, where shadows dance and play,

The Inner Sanctuary holds its mystic sway,

A realm of wonder, veiled in secrecy and night,

Where priestess, robed in white, invokes the sacred light.

Adorned with gold and jewels, like a vision rare,

She prays and worships, lost in contemplation's lair,

Her heart aflame with devotion, as she supplicates the divine,

In reverence and awe, her spirit entwines.

The Temple's followers, with tresses flowing free,

Consult the spirits of the flowers, in mystic symphony,

Their whispers weaving spells of ancient, mystic art,

As they commune with petals, and the language of the heart.

Within the Sanctuary's hallowed halls, the white-robed women kneel,

Their prayers and hymns ascending, like a fragrant, mystic zeal,

Offerings of music, wine, and incense, waft and rise,

As they beseech the gods, with adoration, in loving, mystic sighs.

Rituals of healing, and enlightenment's sacred fire,

Guide them on their journey, through the realms of rebirth's desire,

A path of convalescence, where mending and revival entwine,

In the shrine of the soul, where love and wisdom are divine.

In this ethereal realm, the priestess counsels, with gentle, mystic art,

Invoking the adoration, that beats within the lover's heart,

Veneration and awe, in sacred, mystic rite,

Unite with the divine, in love's redemptive, radiant light.

With each supplication, a petition is made,

To the spirits that dwell, in the Sanctuary's mystic shade,

A call to the unknown, a whisper to the wind,

That carries the prayers, to the realms of the divine within.

In this mysterious, surreal world, where symbols reign,

The language of the flowers, is spoken, and the heart's deep pain,

Is soothed by the rituals, and the love that is shared,

In the Inner Sanctuary, where the mystic and the divine are paired.

The air is thick with incense, and the scent of blooming flowers,

As the priestess and the worshipers, in their devotion, for hours,

Invoke the mysteries, that lie beyond the veil,

In the realm of the unknown, where the sacred and the surreal prevail.

In the stillness of the night, the Sanctuary's mystic heart beats strong,

A rhythm that echoes, through the ages, all day long,

A call to the mystic, to the seeker, and the one who would adore,

To enter the Inner Sanctuary, and forevermore be transformed, forevermore be reborn.

In whispers of ancient halls, where sacred echoes play,

A priestess in white, adorned with gold and gems, prays.

Her voice a melody, a hymn to spirits unseen,

Bounds through the sanctuary, where mysteries are sown.

Followers with hair cascading, like rivers through green,

Consult and consort with flowers that whisper and ween.

Spirits of petals and stems, in soft petitions observed,

Guide their steps, as they ponder, where the sacred iserved.

Kneeling in silence, women in white, offerings unfold:

Music that lifts like incense, spirits to engold.

Wine pours out, a crimson tide, healing and renewal's sign,

In this temple of rebirth, where souls seek to align.

Rituals of enlightenment, where healing hands impart,

Journal of the heart, journeying through the mystic art.

In this hallowed place, where the ancient wisdom dwells,

Seeking rebirth, renewed, the spirit's path compels.

Of the Inner Sanctuary, sing, O Muse, of Ages,

Of history etched on stone and whispered pages,

Of Art that breathes in smoke and holy light,

And Poetry that blooms in endless night.

Before the walls, before the chiseled spire,

There was the soil, the elemental fire;

A seed of faith, a promise in the earth,

That spoke to souls of spiritual rebirth.

Then came the builders, with their sacred mission,

To give this silent prayer a new position,

And raise a shrine where heaven’s gaze might bend,

A place for broken spirits to transcend.

Now clothed in white, a living, breathing scroll,

The Priestess stands to sanctify the soul.

Upon her robes, the sun-forged gold is laid,

A filigree of light, a bright cascade.

The jewels upon her brow and at her throat

Are stars that in a milky river float.

She raises hands, not for herself to plead,

But for the hopeful, for the soul in need.

And all around, the faithful kneel and wait,

In silent adoration at the gate.

The white-robed women, in a tide of grace,

Supplicate softly in this holy place.

In solemn veneration, heads are bowed,

A whispered reverence within the crowd,

While offerings are laid upon the stone:

The lyre’s lament, a tender, silver tone;

The wine, a ruby promise, dark and deep;

The incense, dreams that from the censer seep.

The followers, whose unbound, flowing hair

Falls down like veils to shield them from despair,

Consult with those who have no voice to speak,

The silent, wise, the mighty and the meek.

They consort with the spirits of the flowers,

And draw their strength from consecrated bowers.

To hear the rose’s counsel on the wind,

On how a heart of thorns may be un-spined.

To learn from lilies, in their pale array,

How purity can wash all stain away.

They invoke the bloom, they praise its verdant name,

To quell the fever of a spirit’s flame,

For in each petal, truths ethereal sleep,

A poetry the waking mind can’t keep,

But which the soul, in its deep quietude,

Receives as manna, as celestial food.

This is the journey, this the sacred art:

The slow and patient mending of the heart.

A ritual of healing, deep and vast,

To shed the blighted skin of sorrows past.

Here is the soul’s long convalescence found,

On holy, consecrated, listening ground.

They come to beseech for a second sight,

A dawn of awareness in their inner night.

And in their fervent, pure adulation,

They seek a spiritual regeneration.

It is the promise of a great revival,

The spirit’s ultimate, blessed arrival.

A renewal sought, a circle to complete,

From bitter ashes to a fragrance sweet.

So pray the faithful, in the hallowed hall,

Awaiting rebirth at the spirit's call.

The history is not in books here,

but in the grain of the stone floor,

worn smooth by the knees of devotion.

The art is not on canvas,

but in the slow arc of an arm

scattering incense smoke,

a blue thread of prayer climbing toward the rafters.

The high priestess stands, a column of white linen.

Gold at her throat, a sun trapped in metal,

jewels like captured starlight at her wrists.

Her lips move, a silent river of supplication,

an act of pure adulation in the quiet heart of the shrine.

Around her, the followers,

whose long hair falls, a dark curtain

around their necks,

they lean in to consult the spirits of the flowers,

to hear the ethereal counsel

whispered on the scent of jasmine and myrrh.

They do not command, but consort,

learning the poetry of petal and root.

White-robed women kneel,

each a flicker of veneration.

They beseech the unseen.

They make their offerings:

music, a single plucked note that hangs in the air,

wine poured, a purple stain of devotion,

a silent language of the soul.

This is their mission:

a slow convalescence of the spirit.

A ritual of mending what was torn.

They seek a revival, a gentle turning

from shadow toward a dawning awareness.

It is a journey inward, a deliberate, tender

unfolding.

In the sanctuary, they do not shout.

They invoke.

They call upon the quiet currents of healing,

the deep possibility of rebirth,

and wait for the renewal

to arrive, soft as a new leaf.