Petrichor

Don't be flattered, petrichor.
You are but squelched earth hiding,
The sins of sins, seeking and finding,
Poisonous refuge in earthy grave.
You are odour; I refuse to crave
Your sweet - your bitterness
After a night of wetness,
Of gentle showers and sorrowful downpour
That shake me to my very core.
You are wrong for my soul.
I once welcomed the joy you seem to dole
Out, to the world and upon a time,
To me; it is now a crime.
Stop arising, just do not be.
I scorn you, I detest you,
I curse you as the foul smell of rue.
None can see you, but I can feel
Terrible sadness, played around the wheel
Of time that cannot anymore be lived.
I work in clear sheets, with droplets livid
In their rage against the ground, in the air.
I am the moment's anger; it isn't fair.
You are not to be remembrance,
You are not to let me reminisce.
T-this - stop, stop! I will not bow!
Petrichor, if you insist on stooping so low,
Then learn to live and let live.
If you must take, I will give
And let my tears, the bitter smell of salt,
Join in convincing you of your fault.