Enigma

Life is a salad bowl of failures-- too painful It's sauce and drizzle is a cauldron of tears More often bitter-- not swallowable In order to digest, it takes years. At times, it tastes tangy and sweet Like an icing on top of a custard cake Melts in your mouth, sweeps you off your feet If consumed, ailment is what you take. Yet, no matter how steamy the soup is You savor it while hunger is lingering The searing pain causes ironic bliss But won't fill your whole being. The peculiarity of defeat's aftermath Brings forth horrendous trauma Leaves you fully concealed of fear and wrath Truly, life is mysteriously an enigma.