Old Masks

They never change These vassals of venom If only their cups could hold love Instead of water Then gardens could bloom in valleys and deserts As the seeds of love traverse the oceans Yet they chose to poison the wine That spreads humanities love Old men set in their ways Lost, like fishermen at sea Floundering for redemption One day We shall remove their masks And rejoice Love at long last Notes: Recently being in the hospital and not knowing if I would get out, I had dreams of both gardens and nightmares, I guess the best way to sum it up, is the garden of good and evil. Romans 3:13 13Their throats are open graves; their tongues practice deceit; the venom of vipers is on their lips; 14their mouths are full of cursing and of bitterness;…