Succulence

We cannot well do without our sins; they are the highway of our virtue. - Thoreau

Alba Vitta on Shutterstock

naked in the accoutrements of separation

somewhere

hidden in ignominy

caught in the cleavage of lofty good and low-hanging evil

betrayal is born

sweet spirits fermented

moral pulchritude turned hideous

watered

everywhere

with the acrid tears of ages

wailing breaks an invisible wall of banishment

barren beatitudes mourned 'pon famished lips of sorrow

wondering

where in the genesis of this new, living hell

went the sweet fruit and vowed promise of tomorrow

Author's Note

"Adam and Eve, according to the fable, wore the bower before other clothes. Man wanted a home, a place of warmth, or comfort, first of physical warmth, then the warmth of the affections." - Thoreau

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Your poem is a feast of uncommon words! Your wordcrafting pops with bleak insinuations. This harkens to the way we can find ourselves at the end of a relationship, two people hating on each other, screeching with bubbling incompatibility, & it's a wonder how the two got to this point when all felt hunky dory once upon a time. The same could be said for our politics these days (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Pete]

the queasy falling-out. not a pretty thing ... :)