Like sadness, has its flower and its root, Its shelf life, its price, its paper skin, Its spheres of influence, within, within. It flavors other things-even the sweet Turns strange. It is a kind of absolute. Stored in darkness, it will palely sprout, Laddering upward, crooked and discreet. It feeds upon itself, from inside out. Circular, the logic underneath. Dissecting it will only make you weep. Others, how they will their distance keep Because they smell its perfume on your breath. Copyright © A.E. Stallings. http://www.wlu.edu/~shenando | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THADDEUS STEVENS by PHOEBE CARY VAIN TEARS, FR. THE QUEEN OF CORINTH by JOHN FLETCHER ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 13. ON LYRIC POETRY by MARK AKENSIDE PHAENOMENA: WHEN JUSTICE DWELT ON EARTH by ARATUS THE EMPTY BOTTLE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |