Misery Makes The Garden Bloom
When god gives us poison
You were a god who poured us the poison we unconsciously desired.
Drinking the poison, assimilating the poison, exhaling the poison into the poisonous atmosphere —
this blessed pessimism was what we most needed to blend with the bitterness and misery of our lives.
Drink, drink the poison. It is bitter like Chinese medicine — broken dreams are needed to make the garden bloom.
Failure feeds the roses, suffering makes the tomatoes especially juicy — without pain, there is little flavor.
Raise, raise the poison, salute the sadistic god — there is rhyme in her trials, there is reason in her brutal games.
We cannot escape her fire — her bloody fingerprint is on every error, every fatal mistake, every well- intended tragedy.
You can whisper sweet nothings, smile in the face of humiliation — there’s always something that remains unspoken, lingering like stomach acid.
There is no organ, no cell, this god’s finger leaves untouched — her powers are slippery, stealing into your breath, your blood,
like genetic residue from some ancestor a thousand years ago — which of us can say we are without inherited debt, without crime?
Enjoy, enjoy the poison, drink it down to its bitter dregs — name a tree or animal who doesn’t suffer the same or worse.
Now go, go into the poison, you are poison within poison — there may or may not be a purpose, but you cannot deny there is beauty in it.
© Carlo Zeno 2023
Thank you for reading, and thank you to KTHT for providing this space for reflection. For two more recent poems, try these two below 🙏
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