Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

True paradise perhaps is not a nice
and verdant lush oasis— that old myth
is pure mirage; true paradise extends
in arid starkness unmolested by
reflective waters, blindingly released
from sight of memory of love of you.
Eternal easiness denies the fact
my love names Emptiness; but what I’ve lacked
in lacking you is truly honored through
sad waste bad land proves manifest. I teased
a pardon from my hope— and, hopeful, I
persist to love you. Solitude pretends
to be but dismal void; seclusion with
acknowledgement of truth is paradise.