I walked through the garden again this morning.
The flowers all bent, their colors drained by a sun that no longer remembers how to shine.
The ground, once soft beneath my feet, feels hollow now, like something taken away before I knew I had lost it.
The roses don’t bloom the way they used to, their petals bruised from too much waiting, their fragrance gone, leaving only a bitter taste on the air.
The trees no longer whisper secrets to the wind. They are silent and bent like old bones holding on to something they cannot name.
I don’t know why I’m still here in this place that’s slowly forgetting how to be a home. There’s a shadow where the light used to live.
I find myself walking in circles, waiting for something to grow, but the soil is empty.
I don’t tell anyone about this anymore, the way the garden looks after you leave it, how it forgets what it once was, how it learns to live without love.
But I keep coming back, even though I know nothing will bloom the same way ever again.
The desolation reaches out and grabs you in this piece. Again, haunting and familiar.
Well done, poet. I’m already waiting for this your next write.
Have a fantastic day.
Thank you Adira, hope you have a wonderful day as well…
This is a tender write. You’re not talking about a garden at all. It’s your love for a relationship lost. It’s beautiful.
Thank you Alexandria..
Beautifully penned, Fred. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
thank you Damian..