Sphere Of Bliss Poem by Robert Rittel

The mental garden adored by the self of soul to see,
by wisdom withered like the lingering tree.
Dew full silent shimmering green,
night's moisture bathing air in naked keen.
Lipping flowers in sweet seduction,
glooming in shy perfection.
Fragrances speak the appetite for life,
when time reveals character by its light of strive.
Rapture by the bliss of being part,
celestial conduct shines in that whispering art.
Loving beauty is worship at will,
wisdoms mirror reflect that firmament of still.
The living sound beyond times of death,
faith belongs to that sphere of all beneath.