One day I will know it,

the next not,

but it is eternal.

 

Days I will fall,

but when it caresses my tresses

that fall along scars and scabs

hidden from the world,

I rise.

 

It is the experience of a lifetime

and an afterlife too,

and with hands like a baby's

we clutch it,

afraid of the consequences

when it is gone.

 

It is the intricate white orchid,

but the deceptive purple belladonna,

for in everything that gives life,

death lurks too,

but without this thing,

so easily abused

and confused,

would I and everything I do

be without meaning.

 

I cannot live without love.