My Garden

I come here to this place of beauty as often as I can.
By label, I would be "gardener".
Yet, I confess, she sculpts me more than I, her.

My soul is enriched by the scent of her landscape.
Enrapturing every moment spent within her blossoming borders.

With sharp tools, I work her surface.
Cold and metallic. Undeserving of her intimate features.

In truth, she knows best.
If I could give her to that wild nature she longs to express.
How fair she would be. Moreso than even I could shape her.

For what I do is destroy her longing to be set free.
I am called the master of her boarders.
Yet, I'd rather she be left to follow her own voracities.

For only I see what grows wild within her secret places.
Creativity, discernment, wisdom, and a quick wit,
being some of her most desirable annuals.

Yet, I am toilsome to remove these expressions.
Hardly because I desire to.

I fear that if others see her true nature.
I shall be labeled wanting in my duties towards her.

This by others who spend far less time among her petals.
Caring little for what she wishes herself to become.

So I pay my debt to social constructs.
I remove her wilds and plant unnatural efflorescence.
Deemed appropriate for a garden of such distinction.

Society wants of her conformity,
while creativity is to be managed rather than encouraged.

Dullness is worked along every path,
with discernment no longer in sight.

Even still, naivete and ignorance please the masses,
far more than her native wisdom and organic wit. 

So for the sake of my own appearance.
I try to mould her into something she does not wish to be.
She gives of her nature freely,
but I prune it back at risk of her spirit overwhelming me.

All I yearn for is to let wild her truth.
To foster that which she longs to express.
Perhaps one day I will be less of a coward,
and nurture that which my garden gives of her own fashioning.

I take solace in knowing that despite my assaults and intrusions.
Her natural beauty always finds it's way back to the surface.

I destroy, and yet she rebuilds.
I pluck, and yet she yields.
I reshape, and yet she demands freeform.

Long after I am gone. She'll be here still.
Perhaps one day someone new will come along,
one to encourage that wild spirit she encompasses.

The reality is that I can never truly change her.
Yet she has forever changed me.

I give little and take in abundance.
Yet, she always has ever so much more to offer.

I come here to this place of beauty as often as I can.
A garden that will not be tamed by any man,
and that,
that is why I love her.

The Lost Children

Come in, Come in,

Sweet Children, Come in.

Rest from your weary,

from all worldly sin.

I'll love you, I'll feed you,

you'll not need again.

On that day you are hearty,

I'll dine once again.

Aberrant Illumine

A cordial glare peeks through the night.

Enticing globes of orange and white.

Fear-consuming shards of light.

Lift thy soul to glorious heights.

Yet none pray tell the rising crude.

Blotting out dawn's interlude.

Enveloped in a calloused mood.

Our vagrant hearts erupt in feud.

If all for naught our lives be shared.

Let thy cruel shroud consume the air.

Though if hope lies in slumbering sun.

Wake now and shine, from this time on.

My Lonely Hilltop

Bitter cold comes at autumns passing.

Winds glide ‘cross my silent hill.

Rustling the wild grass around me.

While snow falls like the years before.

Coming is the frigid winter.

When all that once was green will die.

Many years I’ve been here watching.

Watching seasons pass me by.

I’ve learned the signs of violent winds.

Of cleansing rains, or gloomy fog.

Though at this lonely time I wish,

to be again in summer’s arms.

Still, I’m left here in this place.

Behind this gate that’s seldom used.

Assuming that which might come next.

From cloudy heavens up above.

My marker has seen many winters.

So many none could read my name.

Yet in this grave. I’ll be here still.

Watching as the seasons change.

Hades

Shrinking shores and gloomy mist.

I've woken on a perilous trip.

It seems so real, could it exist?

It must be, no dream could be like this.

I wish a wish I would awake.

In linen sheets, so soft and warm.

As solemn cold brings me to shake.

The waters round me call my name.

I walk the deck of ghostly ship.

A wooden beast with fiery sails.

With two small coins caught in my grip.

Yet heavy-heart, with them I feel.

And though this voyage many share.

Somber sea swells stop thy tongue.

No word is echoed through the air.

Nor song of poets from their time.

But one, I see, with greedy eyes,

and withered skin of endless toil.

Steers the craft against the tide.

Gaze fixed yonder vision's end.

While riding still these murky depths.

The man begets a haunting smile.

What‘s caught his eye, he’ll not proclaim.

Though doubtful I’d believe his tale.

Now stretch of land hath caught mine eye.

Though fears within do stir and mount.

Growing till all doubts have passed.

For giant gates ‘tis where we sail.

With boat now moored, we restless souls,

are summoned to these gates of old.

Then he asks me for his toll.

The boatman asks me for his toll.

The Downward Stair

In desolate home I cry for death.

For life to end, to cease my breath.

I can’t release this great despair.

For all is lost on downward stair.

The warmth is gone, though sun still shines.

My clammy hands are pale, white.

No resonance is in the air.

For all is lost on downward stair.

God why my life, did you forsake?

For joyful be my days no more.

Oh, Help me if you really care!

For all is lost on downward stair.

I’ve no more reason left to live.

To hangman’s noose I’ll surely go.

I've cast my love on downward stair,

and still she lay, lifeless below.