In a ardent garden
seemingly unsusceptible to present
torments and tribulations,
reality is suddenly ripped apart
every organ torn from inside
the blood and guts poured
out onto the stone cold walkway.
Herbs growing all around envelope
this event and the memories
of this cruel, unjust deed,
but despite the superfluous aroma of perfume
emitted by these life-giving plants,
the stench of raw flesh remains.

Balm soaks up deadly fluids with equality
to the more subtle overtones of truth.
Life goes on as cynical lies
squeeze their way into inner depths
of what was once a healing herb.
The sweet fragrance of manifested joy and forgiveness
that were once comprehended
in profound verses raining from the sky
now are corrupted by demons
who, like parasites, seize control
of noble and just powers contained therein
and drives oceans of prosperity to death.
Eventually not able to bear the affliction no longer,
reality commits suicide, a witness
to the sallow life in which we reside.