GARDEN, Poetry by Nadya Raymond

Genre: Life, Society

GARDEN by Nadya Raymond

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Rotting, stems riddled with decaying passion lit in a parable of blackness nestles under clots of angelic guilt as sweet occultation-s seep through anxiety pulsating in a distant reflection of youth almost kissed by innocence embrace touching tones of tomb-ed  incubust-ed bubbles of illusions

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Stoic, blushed in beauty entangles in amiss of darkened veils eclipsing under intense incensed lust frolicking in deep mid-night spasms wonders unto empty streets matted in cobble stone and tar

Nails bright pink, crooked like talons

Hair wrapped in mud like mesh

Lips, soft and sweet dripping like blood spewing into veins parched from centuries of slumbered a-comma-ed dreams

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Stagnant, a dull moon pines to breathe sets in the distance over a quiet quaint quilted town on the edge exasperation cooling in the frost of solidarity straggles strolling through an unfamiliar jungle of mirrored images seeking companions hacking up raw avant-garde-ed wit

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Benumbed in hunger, a town lives on the brink of amnesia craving for the thirst of salvation from a distilled lineage of distant lands reigning in terror over a masterpiece painted by phantoms children basking in the freakish enchantment desperately singed in sweet agony and glass masquerading in an orgy of congressional delusions

Wake up

 

There are dead flowers in my garden

Red ones

Brown ones

Yellow ones

Blue ones

Peerless, lifeless dreams creep through window panes in ashes as beads of sweat shimmer under such on intriguingly magnetic light flickering scents of sugared vanilla laced in leather and petty coats abstracted  in realms of eternal holocaust-ed fate convolut-ing in gardens whispering murmurs of secrets under banyan trees

Shhhh

There are dead flowers in my garden

Close your eyes now

 

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