Decomposed Garden


i am back now

in this silent garden

of sunset and deep shadow

growing on shrubs and trees

this garden with its sorrow

pruned back into defoliation

oh yes you know this place:

this garden with its narrow

paths cobbled with memory's

pebbles of deflowering

i rest my body in green ferns

my tired feet

my aching limbs

my pounding pulse

slowly becoming fertile soil

yes: this body sheds its sheen

its whispering voile

its fingerprints

this yearning heart

turns into a shooting star

forgetting its wishes

(a body

trampling on yellow gazanias

a soul

caging the Sun

within a disembodied rainbow)



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Sorrowful Soul

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Ernest Bevans's picture

From compost grows the puriest rose
and the rainbow that now decompose
sleeps during winter until spring
and blooms again to destroy suffering.

I feel this poem and it hangs as a weight
around my heart and sinks it to the bottom
of the sea...