Sadness is perpetual.
It is as fast growing as a Royal Empress
and roots as deeply as a Japanese Pagoda.

In midsummer the flowers bloom
the creamy white essence of agony
even when the soil is restricted and poor.

When the sun hides beyond the horizon
and the soil beneath becomes acidic,
room is created for invasion and expansion.

Sadness flourishes.
It has its lay deep in the forest,
deserted by the sun and reason.

It is a quick rising empress
budding only the bitter fruit
sorrow so generously yields.

Sadness is evasive.
Its intense spiraling reaches far
into the radius of existence.

And inside the flesh,
the seeds spread and mature,
shading the vision from within

and suitably, coalescing into the soul.

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