And then I would speak to them of love for the devil
   sympathy for the sinners
        and defiant acceptance of the damned ...

  for what a wasted world
   without evil

Void then even of the slightest sensation
  that draws the body into blackness
  thoughts barren
  acts unclean

Why praise a single blossom
      lost amid a world of such-same blossom

      but--
        the one flower
         blooming in the desert
           How sweet each petal
                  to lucid eyes
                  to hardened hands
                   and to our own hearts
                                       ever-
                                          blooming
                                              hope.

Categories: Poetry

This entry was posted on Saturday, May 1st, 1993 at 1:01 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.