Imagine loving someone was like walking through a garden.
Their heart; overgrown with thorny roses
in order to protect themselves,
but you never minded the slight perforations they gave you.
The cobblestone pathways that weaved between shrubs and pots
curved your feet as they hugged the ground,
the foundations that connected each plant to the next
like man-made roots you were allowed to walk on,
yet the supple, verdant meadows tempted you with kisses.
The earth was darkened with water
and as you dug your hands into them as if you were combing their hair,
it stuck under your fingernails and stained the lines in your palms
while you uplifted roots and left holes,
memorising the vibrations of the seed you stole.
Imagine loving someone was like walking through a garden.
Pollen and petals wafted through the atmosphere.
A sneeze, a tear; hiccups in the love
between the two of you, but you kept walking regardless.
Surrounded by an oversaturation of green and pinks and reds and oranges and blues and yellows and violets and white.
Bees agitated the air around you, piercing your bubble,
but they were vital to the life in this garden.
Although they stung when provoked, they helped
grow.
Imagine loving someone was like walking through a garden.
When the petals fall and the leaves begin to crunch
with every footstep,
when snow halts life and hues of orange that mimic the sunset,
nature fights with nature.
Our burials become fertilizer
and in turn, our death encourages the living
to live, to prosper.
Imagine walking out of that garden,
gates left ajar,
the only piece of evergreen flora in your hands,
staring at it like gold—treasure.
Little did you know the beating seed would begin to slow as you cradled it.
Soon it will stop, and you will question how it could have possibly happened
when you only intended a stroll through the garden.
YOU ARE READING
Effusive Verbosity
PoetryI have trouble with being succinct, or rather lack being succinct at all. Poetry doesn't come naturally to me, not usually anyway. In fact, I'd rather indulge myself in writing a novel, but there are thoughts in my head and feelings in my heart that...
