A RECIPE FOR LIFE'S COOKING POT. (An Original Poetry)

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Sitting in silence,
surrounded by solitude,
gathering thoughts in multitude,
sadness raising it's altitude,
defeat creeps in stealthily
like sugar into tea
as we trudge wearily
along narrow paths with peebles
where "forever and ever" is king

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We've walked down,
life's miry lanes,
vanquished with a single stroke,
the joy of being alive,
is like chloroquine to the throat,
for we are termites,
to life's cooking pot
for every hiding place,
is an open secret
where we're bested with ease

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In the most endearing trances,
reality is lurking like a panther,
in the sweetest of lullabies,
agony is the third stanza,
a taste of thorn
eaten with flowers
so we merry gently gently
for today is wine and orgy
the morrow is ripe
with sorrow

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We write to write no more,
for the gallows are ready
at the behest of it all,
we will cross to the other side,
unburden and eased,
no longer at war
with demons with flesh