The Preliminaries

Not unrequited, never spurned,
Luck would not deal such a hand.
Prior to the hackles it raised,
In its supple prime,
It was nothing but glowing embers,
Doused; then reignited.

Flourishing with Time’s swift flight,
Its crop shrouded in mystery,
Its nectar laced with doubt.

O, had it been extinguished!
Had it been cut down, before it rose!
Not worthy of note,
But worthy to question, ponder
And lament.

The sinister caress of an avid foe,
That ails the mind,
And confuses the spirit;
Such is its nature, its power:
To rustle spines,
To massacre defiance.

Upon listening intently,
The chorus of drawn claws,
Stained daggers,
And spurting venom can be heard
But not seen;

Welcome, to the predator turned prey.