Still,
choking upon the bittersweet juices
of this Life's fruit,
Yet what is to be savored,
of the delectably flavored
must first through all drought and frost take root.
Still,
are my soul's hands bled and sore
by the thorny stamens
of Love's ever receding rose,
Yet the aloe vera of its mollifying memories
and anointing amenitites, in plenitude still grows.
Still,
in the garden of all omniscience
the Seraph of Beauty is mauled and jaded,
Yet in nearest proximity too, lies the Beast,
irreconcilably invaded.
