a/n: Here I am again, using poetry to ward off... Never mind. But it's sort of a true story -- this poem. Tell me what you think?
Upon a garden once had stood
A beauteous tree of golden leaves...
And there, I carved upon the wood
The verses friendship once did weave.
So long I've toiled to have it grow
A stronger landmark, stout and blessed...
My breath was given it -- to blow,
bestow the life I cherished best.
I poured as water blood my own,
Believing that it someday shall
Be one with me... But all alone
I herein stand, with bitt'rest gall.
For where is that which long I loved?
My shelter -- transient-- passed away.
The beauty of the leaves above
Have come to this, their final day.
And would I call what thus remains
My home and sanctuary still,
When shade is gone and malice stains
My trust? Have all these come to ill?
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YOU ARE READING
Read my Eyes
Poetry“The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, and tells a tale it never feels; deceit the guilty lips impart, and hush the mandates of the heart; but soul’s interpreters, the eyes, spurn such restraint and scorn disguise.” (Lord Byron) Probe mine. Tell...
