Dying Shapes III

Dissolve the Gardener,

       Architect whose cunningly unpruned marching vines are barren deceptive addictive are but woven insecurities, Thorns... Oppression, Is the key to our possession, Hearts religious dialect strung pathetic psalm belief out on the wrung, We're unviolent pacifist naked pedals seeking the darkness to keep the unknown invisible, Beyond the knowledge of our spores, Where roses are throttled not by the vicious, But by the designs of our every.. Dying... Day... Life! Unto which our stems blind toxicity conform! As if such selfishness could rescue us... Or anyone, In a harbingers hindsight, We're already lost as the most translucent ghosts!

In lieu of our self oppression,
Unto the mirror are we frozen!