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January 19, 2008

 

do not look upon me
in this untended state
grown over
with regret

rampant with cynicism
with unbridled bitterness

in this winter season
of dormant bloom
waning hope

my color has all faded
gone to random hues of grey
the faintest blush of tint

like the cushioned adirondacks
abandoned on the deck
left exposed
too many seasons

brittle
tattered
faded

uncomfortable and unwelcoming

there were seasons
long ago
they embraced laughter

the excitement
of precious friends

once

this garden echoed joy

bloomed long
full and fresh

petals
berries
fruit and leaf
hung heavy

urgent with essence
bursting with life

but biting winds have blown
chill rains fell

rude sun
relentless
in harsh insistence

the suffocating snows

caretakers of the garden
have lost regard
season by season
year by year

misplaced
the tools that nurture

no longer sought

desire wilted
like this scarcely tended plot

too frequent
cruel indifference
haphazard care

dieing embers of concern

like fire
in the great hearth
no longer fed
or gathered round

ignored

no laughter rises
no faces lighted
no warm encounters

passing in the hallway
mumbling over breakfast

no warm encounters

400-thread-count passion
a dieing ember
no longer fed

the hearth grows cold
unwelcoming

chill winds of apathy
prevail

unwelcoming — this garden

grown over with regret
choked by weeds of discontent
from years of withheld love
and failed attention

the untended garden withers

its ember of life
dieing

 

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7 comments

  1. Wonderful imagery – I can completely relate. Really love this:

    ‘like the cushioned adirondacks
    abandoned on the deck
    left exposed
    too many seasons’

    Also:

    ‘caretakers of the garden
    have lost regard
    season by season
    year by year

    misplaced
    the tools that nurture’


  2. this is great because it looks inside, yet does not overdue the imagery


  3. Ooh, that’s lovely. Sad, too; I went through a period where this described me.

    That’s probably why I’m looking to see what happens when it’s time to weed the garden and tend it again. Is it the same, or has it changed irreparably?


  4. very cold!


  5. shivers down my back..

    It will pass..


  6. this is sad, I hope someone ressurects the garden


  7. desire wilted
    like this scarcely tended plot

    quite lovely, a soft, lilting rhythm that is at once haunting and charming



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