flower of passion
petals like moist lips in rain
spring bids good morning.

Standing at the portal
Of the massive stone engender
Clenching as the sweat
Runs down the sinews of my arm,
Glaring at the enemy's
Rendition of surrender
And knowing, well within,
Why he means to do me harm.

Watching so acutely
For the sliding of his eyeball
Inching to the left
In a slithering advance,
Waiting for the quiver
Of deception's feint, so ribald,
Then lunging with the blade
At his severanced last dance.

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Gleeful parasites intent on obliteration
feed on the stillness.
Starlight can't warm the damp grass.
If only he had cosied up once
for one last chance
to embrace.

True religion
begins in the heart

The heart is the ruling power of manhood

You can enlighten the
understanding of man

But if his heart is wrong
the understanding only enables him to sin with a greater disregard for the responsibility resting upon him .