The Flowers of Evil

I see the flowers, bedecked in their cause, Strewn upon the path, laid bare without pause, Our spirit season comes at last to bloom, Yet with bitter scent that evokes dark doom.

In this garden twisted, where laughter is lost; A paradise where roses kiss their frost, Yet their petals remind of joy and pain, Through their open buds we can never explain.

Each fragrant touch is a pang of the soul, Like sweet desire clutching, but never quite whole, Love is nature’s shadow, always hard to trace, These flowers grown from our darkest embrace.

So we savor each sip of their perfumed air, Doomed to love nature, yet winding in despair.

• Charles Baudelaire