Lush and fully thick with riches
its bounty ours to keep,
masking deep beneath fair cover
the things that make us weep.
The dew of envy on bitter leaves
pride to make us scoff,
prickly vine of jealousy
the muck and mire of sloth.
Poison sweetness of vengeance
heady intoxicating lust,
frozen wastes of selfishness
to wander if we must.
Thickets of self absorption
bearing thorns of sharp remorse,
forever there to blindly roam
lost with no recourse.
Panicked by fear of powerful storms
whipping dark cold seas of hate,
and raging fire of constant wars
that seem to never abate.
Cloying shallow human senses
more than we can absorb,
succumbing to temptation
on this hedonistic orb.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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