The Garden Nation

Luscious red

amongst the ashen flower

crimson free

of

the stark white towers

 

If beauty were a currency

It’s only equal would be the peace

of perennial power

long live thyne blossoming flower

 

The Lily,

pale, next to it its crimson neighbor

opening wide, exposing everything to her, in fervor

whilst her counterpart, hides away, in her dungeon below

 

The Rose,

stoic, after years of living alone

her thousand sentinel army

never near enough to comfort the sentiments of her soul

 

The powers that be

could not contain thee

God shed his light 

his love they can not see

 

The season has come

for Death’s cloak to reign

over the dominion

the golden sovereignty, The Garden Nation