Gargoyles Garden
A garden I sometimes visit
It is shaded by honey locust,
They carry more thorn than honey scent.
It is walled with stones stained
With generations of disappointment,
And echo the lightest step.
The open gate is bent outward
With sharp spikes that beg for a head.
Clean shafts of sunlight disturbed the gloom
And plays unwelcomed on a statue
Of a girl in a poison ivy shroud
Poised as if she has forgotten something
A well worn path circles the girl,
Revealing scab colored ground
Framed by sharp shards of black rock glass.
Crucified roses on their crosses
Beg to b e free of their sins
The roses look more like wounds
Than sweet smelling flowers
A patch of burning nettles
Show a gardener’s tender touch.
On around Jimson weeds grow,
Their spiny pods read to explode.
Butterfly less milkweed are almost ready
To contaminate the very air.
I have completed the gardens track
And again face the now closed gate
Shut by some unseen force.
I bid farewell to the little girl
As I leave I am always faced with the fear
That I will one day not want to leave.
Whiskers 04/02/08
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