Bloom and Doom

In life’s smooth stream we dream along, half aware, half asleep.

One moment things are fine that way, the other brings along a jolt.

In one vile stroke things fall apart, nothing that was can they withhold.

Life’s prizes simply waste away; what was supreme just turns to clay.

Each moment that comes is charged with stuff either good or totally ill.

One never finds refuge enough, from howling winds and silent graves.

Then comes a bloom, looms large, holds on, but then it gives way to doom.

The dying flowers, leaves and plants respect hot summer’s scorching gloom.