It's a garden of a different sort
In here..lay beds of other
Unusual..hard to define
Nothing scary...haunt's be...
Nary
Still..the blooms be different shades
Some colors off..
Yet close to main
Odd indeed...and how they bleed..
Is strange
Alas...one may spend a fortnight
Awaiting...moon's just perfect shine
One.. may spend more than a year
Waiting...'cause they true believe
One indeed...
May never leave
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Author:
James Perrin (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 4th, 2026 22:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
Ah, that singular moment of perfect clarity that may or may not ever come. A glorious expectant wait. 🕊️🙏
Tx
This poem has a haunting feel to it a place somewhat dreamlike and magical where time passes ever so slowly and one waits and waits and may never wake. Well written a fave
Tx soren
You are very welcome
My friend, “Nothing scary…haunt’s be…” is the turn that grabbed me. It hints that the unease doesn’t come from monsters but from something far more subtle. That line sets the tone beautifully. Wonderful write. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thanks tristan
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