... poetry ...

There Is A Garden Where We All Go

there is a garden where we all go

we push through misty memories to find the gate

and carelessly venture in

we go to see what lives and what dies

bright, succulent tulips

among withered violets

low hanging Spanish moss

taunting the decaying trunks of long lost trees

the ground is muddy and the mood is sullen

but we continue coming back into each

Paradise lost

hoping, perhaps, to catch a glimpse of the Angel

sword in hand

waiting to cut down the ones who enter

we are just waiting to feel the warmth of his blade.

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