Where Flowers Never Bloom

Do flowers bloom in perdition?

Purgatory grows nothing of beauty.

It must be imported,

But won’t survive for long.

Fire waits to torment,

Every tender blossom,

And every unprepared soul.

Those who withstand the heat,

Come out the other side purified.

As the refiner’s fire burns,

It brings the dross to the top,

Where it can be seen and removed.

The end result is purest gold.

Splendor, quality, and worth,

All these are wrought from suffering.

Lessons have been learned.

Hard victories have been won.

No form of pain seems pleasant,

Yet at the end waits eternal bliss.