A flower, a rose, beautiful to behold
But painful to hold.
Wonderful to touch
But it's thorns a consequence to consider

An amorphous cave hides behind a cascading flow of crystalline blue, sparkling and shining like radiant glass.

Inside the incandescent cave, an effervescent and ephemeral scent of dulcet cinnamon coalesces into the air of the inside of this seemingly halcyon cave.

The feelings, the emotions, the sights, all too inexorable in it's ineffable reality. It calls out, with it's mellifluous and beautiful, languid and sirenic voice, incandescent with epiphany,

"Come child of man, meet me, greet me, welcome me, me as the idyllic felicity some dare to even dream of, and then let me embrace you and enrapture you and encompass you in my incorporeal and frozen, evanescent tranquility."

This ephemeral and serene cave now even murmurs and sings a tranquil symphony suffused with rhapsodic zeniths.

It... It truly was ephemeral...

A horrible shriek, a shrill and a repulsive and repugnant and rancid smell. A decrepit cacophony of hollow, anguished wailing and screaming. Pain at my soul, and a harsh, hoarse and coarse voice filled with slaughter and cataclysm. A grotesque, hirsute maladroit leech, visceral and shunned from everything and everyone, even the Earth itself...