In delusion it began, this rather beautifully intentioned affair,
void of worry, alien to torment, without substance or direction,
outside of necessity, driven by desire.

Isn’t nature gentle, a mother of concern and consideration.
Isn’t she a bitch, vicious, shrill, dreadful.
Revealing beneath her wonder a devastating blow.

In turbulence it continued, this compromise of two,
like a patient moment suspended,
attempt to appease the desperate truth.

Isn’t time so free, such a spirit borne of autonomy,
passive in its being, subtle and so mild.
Isn’t he a bastard, dragging out every second of suffering,
gradual in his torture, a concept unconcerned.

The relationship went on, this mass of scorn and ridicule,
compulsion to prove tolerance,
endure the acidic test.

Isn’t life a bowl of cherries, as succulent as a peach,
tantalizing as strawberries and cream.
Isn’t life demanding, its yoke is rough and unsuited,
thrown about our shoulders, an imposed weight, grinding us down.

It ended in relief, this thankless, ungrateful association,
beautiful in its intent,
hellish in its execution,
painfully wonderful in conclusion.

And, there dawned a new day,
with strength, in individuality,
hope, in isolation,
glory, in eternity of self.

Isn’t nature gentle.
Isn’t time so free.
Isn’t life a bowl of cherries.
In a brilliant and refreshing light, that of a new day.