The Garden

Pacing the borders of lush green vegetation of a Fall-Out wasteland.
I welcome the warming sun and bite of winter air,
that mixes with midnight oil and the distant blaze of 420.

I listen to planes overhead, the Magpies quarrel their disputes,
And the leaves giving a lively concert just for me.

I watch the mother of 3 lazing in the sun and the travers child chase her tail.
Two sisters who have come a long way,
A better life one would hope.

But this is where I come to think,
In a place where everything feels real.

I think of a place that does not exist,
Of valiant heroes and of a love that does not speak.
Open to interpretation.

I think of dark alleyways, gun powder and blood-stained hands.
I think of children, sweet domestic bliss, a Miracle.

Fabricated conversations cemented in validity with every step.

I think to those long departed and sometimes we talk.

Calling those four corners for advice, wisdom.
Just give me a sign.

I think of a place I have yet to see,
grateful I took your advice to Join You.
Forever proudly wearing your colours.

Sometimes, I think of you,
And what a future would look like.
Do you think of me? 

In this place, I allow my imagination to flourish.
Like the plants I have long forgotten to water,
and the grass that forever grows.

My garden is a haven,
Where my mind can wonder freely.
No judgment. No hate. Just creativity. 

Author's Note

I'm new here... and to writing poetry

Reviews

[Unspoken poet]

My garden is a haven,
Where my mind can wonder freely.
No judgment. No hate. Just creativity.

Love these lines here, This is a wonderful write. Welcome to the writers cafe