A tree withers, a rose blooms,
a castle majestic once, now in ruins.
If love is gained and life is lost,
what then will be eternity’s cost?

A hand stretches out, manifestation of soul,
unto itself it has one goal.
To savour love, to relish being,
who then can perceive what the sight is seeing?

A bond impregnable, with a foundation of truth,
in the blink of an eye, vanishes like youth.
If existence dissolves at the Father’s hand,
who then can in their own glory stand?

A valley high, a mountain low,
this twisted thought, is just a show.
If origin is questioned and spirit set free,
can might then be defined by humanity?

A unity untouched by the eyes of man,
a sad sight if seen, but an ingenious plan.
Creator created, men destroy,
who then differs when we experience joy?

A time to live, a time to die
a saying impossible to deny.
If people were just, pure and true,
will evil still exist and in who?

A perfect number in this poem we see,
days of the week mean the same to me.
Its intention is not to give confusion a chance,
but without struggle, we will not advance.