Below is some poetry I dug up from 15 years ago . . .
In this world of thorns and roses
Deception creates reality's balance.
Here lays a cup stemmed from overflowing greed
Rather cage the birds than watch it fly.
In this form claimed to know well
With all the strong gusts and soft breezes
Rest here now,
Do not loose sight of the mountains.
Enclosed are the remnants of the garden
In these hands lie the builder and the destroyer.
Even in the winter snow
There always remains a red rose.