I stand and sometimes I pace.
Far away my footsteps carry,
Miles away to a secret garden
Buried beneath her graveyard.
Everytime the cavern finds me easy.
Sometimes I crawl and creep
Through hollow tunnels,
The sound of an engine heavy afar,
A striking caveat yomping away,
Quivering turfs dye hair brown.
As I reach, I tread on lightly,
While golden beams trace patterns
Over footprints that I leave.
Aura of gentle radiance bathes
Crispy fluttering palms,
Lingers on with a soft echo
And quietly settles amidst my
Wild whispering curls of lashes.
Like dark velvet lounges,
Swirls in rhythm with ripples
That have become air,
The violet fragrance breathes me in,
Brown specks dim their flares,
And now shed dew drops
That evanesce in the languid aroma.
And all hues possible
Smeared on my inky canvas,
By satiny ribbons arranged in clusters,
Exquisitely envelop and fold,
Coaxing tied knots open
And tethering new ones free.
Lean hazel threads play their tunes
With ocean green blades.
A cajoling melody.
And thus I go.
Let this garden tuck me away.
Somewhere safe from her tomb.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
