Crooked lines where straight and clear once were chiseled
by unforgotten and unforgiven who still trample my small garden.
Hopeful violets bent and broken,
Lilacs of tomorrow brushed aside;
apologies go unspoken.
It is uncaring jack-booted trespass
repeated violation of treaty between spirit and brain.
These are the old obligations finally come due,
indebted by countless toothless promises,
lies told so often they present finally as true.
Walls and chemicals provide no real protection
from enemies already inside the soul’s perimeter
while the nightmare shifts to reality’s second gear.
There is no comfort from these hateful dreams,
no mother’s hand to check this childish fear.
Silly gardener braces against imaginary wind
strong enough to bend the branches of resolve he clings to.
No agile hand to set small seeds in still unbroken ground
like tokens from a pocketful of possibilities.
Answers go unsearched for, so no explanation is found.
Hands wish to cover the scowling face, now lined and creased;
too many summers following no springtime.
Finger’s grip is unsure, curled into callused palm,
can no longer hurl the horizontal scythe,
can only grasp feebly at manufactured calm.
Boot scuffed marigolds and other ivy like misfortunes
will either heal or be discarded after they expire from thirst.
All too well the gardener knows the signs of season’s end;
his reasons for continuing the care of stricken roses
get even harder to defend.
His garden will not understand, will overgrow with man’s sorry weeds.
Without regular watering, ideas wither to brittle.
Worn hoe and rugged spade leaned unused, dull with rust.
Violets will refuse to be repaired yet again
as the gardener walks off no more slowly than he must.
-
Author:
Dan Williams (
Offline) - Published: December 6th, 2024 01:09
- Comment from author about the poem: presented unedited from 1999
- Category: Short story
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Cassie58
Offline)
Comments5
A powerful but very enjoyable read, Thank you
This poem as a metaphor contains very deep meaning. It is inspiring haven’t given me an idea for a future poem. I think that alone makes it worthy of being faved.
A great use of metaphor here Dan. Nurture is paramount. Without it, all living things will die. A gardener knows that best of all. First class poetry. Much enjoyed.
May their garden grow that tend them well!
Powerful write
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