In life, the rude and gruesome spills we take
bring loss and sadness, not to mention pain.
And beauty kills, the heart cannot re-make
the miracle of Heaven's shape again.
Too easily, what's good does slip away.
Too late, we turn to see love disappear.
The vestal sense of 'new and pure', turns gray
before we comprehend what's truely dear.
Invested in the love of earthly treasure,
unwilling to forgo our faith in Things,
what's good and meaningful, we know no measure.
To work and rise enlightened, we have no wings.
To rouse our Being from soul-killing sleep,
is dire, almost hopeless, with path so steep.