-Wild Is The World of Loves Untended Meadow-
Ah yes... I met two such flowers this summer. They had thorns hidden amongst the petals, the fragrant hooks of a challised deceit. All soft and shining were their blossoms in the moonlight, snatching at the whimsy of passing hearts. They cried 'We the good and gracious, bold hearted confidants of Gods and mercy, shall suckle you with the nectar of love'.
Embalmed in such devices, what mortal man, with clear and supple heart, could resist so sweet the corrupted seduction of those amber foliole... Succoured amour, two breasts that beat, once, with one cold heart.
Then, I spied on tender hooks the rotten carcass of weeping souls, buried beneath the mountains dark Tol. They whispered: 'Get as high as you can'... So I dragged them unsuspecting into the yellow lair, in peace and silence, surrounding them with golden thread, to weave a tale of dream and dark despair. Entombed, the frond and barb remain, still there.
White lights that placed themselves as trumpeting angels in the garden of the moon, and sought to judge each blessed stray, and wayfaring outcast, upon the alter of their bloody reign. Yet, they had not vision enough to reckon upon the secateurs of time, burning in the wind of their own blind sight, the coals of deception, devouring each plaintiff song, whilst all the flowered petals sweetly sang along.
Wild is the world of loves untended meadow, some years, t'is best to leave the earth, still and fallow.
© Richard Michael Parker 2012
