These Peaks of Joy

These mouths of laugh these traps of many these winds as peas, they grow;they are tall. These fools to smiles these miserable men of ham; these slings of love they fail;they are frail. These fair feet;adorned these skins of cherubs;rare these sparks of peace, they come;they go. These rivers of soil these soils of mud these rocks are flakes they sink not;they sail. But yet even the emblem of love becometh but fragile even the light that was but: dawns to darkness so the joy is as a rock In a sling it goes up hither; but sooner falls. These drains of sadness these moments;but few these peaks of joy they;intense but brief. These sobs of annoyance; these moons at graves these blues are silent, they whisper;they are meek. These lilies are not flowers these twigs but roses these;there fragrance they enlighten;they are life. These mountains of prophets these seas of glass, these heights of love, they work no ill;they are joy. These peaks of laugh these deep winds, these rare bushes of gloom, they burn;it's passion. -The end-