The Tangled Web of Mortal Strife

Amada Paul Israel
@israelamadapaul172464
1 day ago

O gentle Muse, incline thy ear to me,
To weave a tale of woe and ecstasy.
The power of Love, a flame both fair and bright,
Yet oft doth lead astray by hidden blight.

For Love, in truth, may turn to lustful fire,
A fevered yearning, not of Heaven's choir.
With honeyed whispers and a fleeting kiss,
It spurns true grace and sinks to carnal bliss.

Then Fear doth creep, a specter dark and grim,
Its shadow long, its presence ever dim.
Fear doth entwine with Envy's bitter sting,
When one man's joy another's heart doth wring.

And lo, the root of evil, Money's gleam,
Doth drive men mad, pursuing endless dream.
'Tis Sin that follows, cloaked in guile and shame,
With gilded hands to fan the fleeting flame.

But Death, the reaper, waits with patient hand,
To claim the soul and scatter grains of sand.
Though Anger rages, fierce as tempest wild,
It leaves the heart withered, and oft beguiled.

O mortal coil, what folly dost thou weave,
When Love, once pure, doth oft our hearts deceive.
Yet still we strive, though tangled is our thread,
For in this strife, the soul is truly fed.


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