As a child, I should have learned to see a beautiful blossom in a corm

The Garden of Eden in a seed; played amongst lovely things

Dwelled in perpetual amenities while life flowed by like a song

I would be a comet, leave long bright trails

Find lastly my place in an élite constellation full of celestial beings

I grew up to appreciate the work ethic with hardships

Refusing to fight the world that is

But creating one that could be with a smile that shines through tears

Beauty is ecstatic like a rosebud with a perfume as attractive as hunger

Love your brier that is prized beyond a sculptured flower

For its visible spring of infinitude of complicated goings-on

Accept its thorns yet leave it on its stem safe and sound

I have immaturely crushed mine between my fingers

Thinking the loveliest of lovely things on earth are fugacious

They must be had before they pass away the earliest

In me the beast sniffed the rose; the sweetness of its nectar warmed my heart

And turned it into the kind without thorn that endures eternity in my art

I resolved suddenly that so many subjects worth knowing could not be taught

Since I was yet unable to understand how I apprehended a thing

I knew less than I was capable of perceiving

And thinking was a lot more fascinating than knowing

My cheerful soul by nature wished I fathomed how to talk about nothing

So as to ironically prove that love is stronger than dying

And a fact is less powerful than a dream

Meanwhile, I relied on my foundations to advance confidently

In the direction of a simpler continuance which I have been imagining

I wanted to put some things behind, pass an invisible threshold, expand and relive

With the license of a higher order of being

Alone, poorer, less complex yet free

I embrace the new as entities are not only what they seem to be

I know beneath what is no longer adventurous and exciting

There is no such thing as real security

I agree that in movement there is vitality, in change the meaning

And should I ever be done expecting

It will become impossible to remain resourceful and lively

I reckon myself as an indignant poet who always speaks truthfully

And I spurn the only thing that is worse:  Lying badly, naturally

Black Velvet.