White Flag & Roses

Just for a moment
I stopped to smell the roses.
There in the fresh air,

I discovered that
my nose no longer discerned
the scent of flowers;

its range diluted
by the permeating stench
of life corrupted.

Easier by far
to believe the very worst
than cultivate hope -

in the twilight hours -
that the monsters that wait there
for the inky dark

will blunt their sharp teeth
and permit me to pass by;
white flag in my hand.