For I was thrown to the brooding storm
On a day so bright, yet so forlorn
If I had known the tasks back then
That sat before this saddest of men
Does it matter to thee, to write & to play
To write of such bother, oh torment do stay
For without thou angst, does passion not thrive
Should it be light, not dark by my side
For thou has dwelt within gardens of sin
Did dance, with a devils grin
Keep thi enemies close they say
It is easier to see him coming that way
Why him not her, no mention of maid
For the arms of thy Women, were warm & safe
Like sweet smelling roses
Warm days & cold nights
They did comfort, this saddest of men
For if not forlorn & broken today
Does thy not know, the happiest of days
Deciept & hate, i know these well
But abandon me not, the roses sweet smell
For these tears of pain should serve thee well
For on stalks of thorns, is the roses sweet smell. ©
Poem by Shannon Leckie 1998