A vacancy of care, this blanket cast over a life which moves all too quickly towards a known unknown.
Deep in the garden of this soul, dwells more things than time can offer adequate explanation.
Some things lurk in the shadows; others posture in the light.
The precious illusions of a healthy robust system, veils the knife’s edge of ever-threatening entropy.
So much here is living, so much here is dead already.
The deceased help the others in their spiritual rot. Bringing circles to life, which go round and round.
You came here and stood, while the grasses and the flowers tickled your feet.
Always barefoot in my garden, letting me smell your skin.
Wanting to slip within and feel more comfortable.
You took away those insecurities, wondering at the fruit and vine. You spent time, amongst my flowers and didn’t shy from the weeds.
Weeds, they do not thrive in happy conditions; they struggle and push; fighting for their place.
I let them flourish now but capping them at times, so they do not block out the light.
They are just as precious as the roses, and the gladioli; opposite ugly. The nasty side of my soul.
A garden begins from tiny seeds and a little hope. I watered it with the tears and sweat of a life forced upon broken shoulders. Maintained and cared for by the fairies, that took me away.
Walled away from the other plots, so as not to copy their design.
We grew too big for the space, going up and down into sky and soil. Seeking the light, and comforted by the dark. For in the dark, we aren’t a part of the outside world.
When you came, when you lifted the gate; the birds began to sing.
When you left, the flowers began to die.
But you did come, and you had stayed. Loving the weeds and the flowers as the same.
Now I must shake off the soil and decide what to plant next.
Havoc and Consequence 