In the dusk of war
Of my own personal battles
That seethed and wailed,
uprooted from the ground
Like weeds beneath the shallow mulch
Did my own fears come to fruition,
Seeds nestled between memories
Suckling on life as soon as it enters me.
Joy,
Though rare and bleeding
Did spill into my life
At the same moment more people arrived -
Those who would do the cleaning
"Oh, come now," they said
For I'd been mulling about in
My own person,
Not as much as I'd been swimming in
A glass of Merlot and cherry wine;
For I'd drowned in a solution so pure before -
All besides the sting and reverberating warmth of
The lord in my glass
Would be toxic for me.