Guilded by the garden lie, amongst the emeralds here divine,
And settle down inside the dirt for worth.
Alas my love, your petals shine, as roses in the heart asks why,
And the garden grows in dirt.
I have not kept, but surley wept, the heavens in the clouds.
As fire looms, in the devils bloom and the harps are loud.
Yet angels roam, as tears of frost fall gently still at natures cost.
And love remains but proud.
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Author:
RSM (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 6th, 2026 00:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship
Offline)
Comments2
This poem makes me feel stupid yet tickles feelings unnamed, shakes the dust out of old rugs and opens doors on cobweb closets. It brings light that exposes little but feels so good to be aired out. It is one of those mysterious poems that come every blue moon that just leaves one feeling better for being too dumb to understand it. Nicely done and a fave
Well written. Your poem explores the interplay between love, nature, and the passage of time. It conveys a sense of longing and reflection on the beauty and transience of love, using the garden as a metaphor for growth and decay.
You give interpretations from God, as always. Lol
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