A garden of agonies

Visions of cotton clouds in arabesques

Like stain glass windows of a holy sky.

The veneer and the glaze will fade away

When ingenuity's sails shall skirr awry.

Fell Oracles of sands and whispered auspices

Like anathemas carried on the soundless wind.

The contralto and rhythmic cadences will die

When the convulsions of reckoning shall unwind.

Orbicular murmurs on broken seas

Like fingertips draw circles in damp soils.

The empathy will rend perfection

When medleys shall bewilder the spoils.

On the wake of battle this prophecy is heard,

The poet makes his daily last stand in the dust.

The echo of the clash is oft deferred

To the next poem when fires combust!

This is one of my hardest poems and it has a lot of meaning. I realize it is terribly complex but, unlike most modern poets all of my words are carefully chosen and have a meaning beyond the meaning. The poet's mind is a beautiful garden torn by the desire to abide by the laws of a fantasy world and the delusions of the real world. It's a garden of agonies where the beauty of the four elements can be destroyed by the hatred and evil of the human world. The poet fight his hopeless battle every single day but he fights it with honour and faith. The last stand is always his.