Garden of Evil

Lush and fully thick with riches it's 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 vines of jealously thick muck and mire of sloth. Poison sweetness of vengance 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 cold dark seas of hate, the raging fires of constant wars that seem never to abate. Cloying shallow human senses more than we can absorb, succumbing to temptation on this hedonistic orb.