FERTILE SOIL

FERTILE SOIL
6/16/94

Color me a dream fell through
The fall the only thing that’s true
Easy is not the power’s vein
As given is no counted gain
Tomorrow’s grave don’t stake a claim
If pain invested serves no aim
Unless the death sustains the birth
Sacrifice has no self worth

And in the end there are only bones, only worms, that is not the true consequence
If in the sun the flesh corrodes, slowly burns, the light of truth must reprehend

Label me for misery, because the apple is not my only fruit
Knowledge harbors ports that free, THAT garden is where bones may root
The tasted pain is power’s sweet, bones should not be wasted on the dirt
All one is part of dichotomy; all of pleasure is part of hurt

And if, in the end, there are but holes to fill, the garden has left an empty toil
And if there are no tears left to wet the till, it will harden instead of leaving fertile soil