The Garden's Thorn
gardening without gloves
Dusk, looming to wrap the moonlight around you
wiltering to a dream state of mind
is it time?
The garden scape makes it way to my desires
the moon telling me the time
making way for a glass thermometer
these outdoor plants in the dropping temperature
tonight a blanket of the first snow
exasperating gasps of the frigid air
embracing the brisk cold
crisping the lush greenary
nitrogen escaping the soiled earth
breathing life into the growth
pruned back to the stem
a touch of care
my mourning wakes to a fresh bloom
the petals burst and felter beneath on the ground
a glimpse of life and regrowth lay on the earth undone in its nature
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall5 days ago in Fiction
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