The scent of roses overpowers
The wicked and the blessed,
Who walk among the blooms for hours
As if to pass some test.
And then they drift away from here
But then return for lunch
And drink the blood of silver deer
And eat grapes by the bunch.
And, all the while, a ball of fire
Revolves to hide its face,
But, like a sense of wild desire,
It seems to stand in place.
But all of that’s already known
To one who sits on wisdom’s throne.
Photo by Aaron Castillo on Unsplash
