In the quietude where saints unfold,
Whispers of divinity, a tale untold.
Their lessons, like stardust, shimmer and gleam,
Illuminating the soul’s midnight dream.

In cosmic dance, they pirouette with grace,
Threads of eternity in their embrace.
Lessons not bound by earthly reign,
A celestial symphony, a soul’s sweet refrain.

Their eyes, deep wells reflecting the divine,
Hold secrets of the universe, an ancient sign.
In every glance, a serenade of the skies,
Inviting humanity to shed worldly ties.

Upon the canvas of time, saints paint,
A masterpiece where love and wisdom acquaint.
Each stroke a sermon, a spiritual art,
Whispered poetry that tears apart.

They wander in realms, veiled and unseen,
Guiding spirits through the cosmic sheen.
Lessons etched on time’s sacred scroll,
A manuscript of the heart and soul.

Their tears, liquid prayers on a sacred scroll,
Speak of compassion, a celestial parole.
In the cathedral of silence, echoes weep,
As saints, in solitude, their vigil keep.

So let tears cascade, like a sacred stream,
In the presence of saints, where realities gleam.
For in the poetry of their silent cry,
The human soul finds wings to fly.