Garden of Evil

Written by: Bob Quinn

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.