Garden of Salvation: Poem

As I lay down with the evening roses,Bitter memories make even thorns banal.Some pricked me pretty deep,Reckoned it to be petty tricks.Wounds afresh, never healed,Eons seems to be recalled.Scarlett honey flowing flawlessly,Is it the eternal ecstasy or misery?I’m ready to bathe in my blood,The nectar of my unfruitful deeds. As I look around with hopeful