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In a garden not so far away A couple sat and talked about many things She shared her dreams he shared his stories Enjoying each other’s company
What could have been or what may yet be, Answers they’re not privy to see They may not see, they cannot wait Only live to fight another day
A smile to say all will be alright A nod full of acknowledgement Words unspoken but understood They sit and reflect and contemplate A moment of pause from reality
Agreeing to visit the place again They part ways with truest warm embrace Another time to meet again Till next time to repeat again
To what end? Tis yet unknown This much is true, they can so meet To sit, sort, think and silently communicate Together in a garden of serenity
***We all have a place we go. Inside our heads, within our dreams. Whatever garden you find yourself in, it’s your place to sit and feel.
I haven’t written in quite a while. This is my first attempt to gut it out since last year. This is one of a few poems I hope to share here in the coming days. There’s a lot inside my head. Writing it down proves cathartic.
Maybe it’ll all disappear someday. Who knows, maybe I’ll publish a collection in a book someday. Till then I’ll find my garden where I sit and ponder, a safe place to lose myself.
I sit beneath my grand sycamore tree Her majestic arms encircling me She holds me close yet sets me free While I sit upon her root shaped chair We share lovely stories and sing happy tunes The fragrance of spring swirls ‘neath her strong bows A breath of tulips, buttercups and lilies
I lay on the blankets of soft meadow grasses A warm summer breeze brushes my skin My sycamore she sings to me Melodies of love and serenity She sees me for just what I am For what I could be, not what I once was She accepts me in spite of my many follies
My lady, she wonders why waste my time? What beauty I see in my sycamore tree? Ax in her hand, she asks me to move So she can cut down and remove it from view A fist to the air, she makes such a scene She curses the tree for noticing me For treating me kindly and holding me close
I wish she would see the value in me To see and to hold me, to want all of me That’s all I ask, to join me a while And hold me beneath the branches of my tree Together to share in warm summer breezes While laughing with my dear sweet sycamore tree Instead of worrying about others noticing me
Perhaps someday soon, one afternoon delight My value to others will reach certainty If not I will sit in loving embrace While I dream peacefully of shimmering lakes A story of love, perhaps this might be But really it’s just a story of a tree The tale of my beautiful sycamore tree
I wrote this a couple of months ago. The context involved some cherished recent moments where I recalled an event 26 years ago, March. The rhyme is simple and basic, nothing exciting. It’s the meaning that I hold close. I’m religious, spiritual to my core. I’ve had incredible experiences in my life that have bolstered that spirituality. When times are difficult for me to navigate, I’ve found solace in some of these experiences and the very personal real relationship I have with Him (God).
I still find myself falling back into dark moments, some that set me on a downward spiral toward my demise. Every once in a while, I’m reminded of the simple truths that I can hold on to.
I’m not mentally whole. Of this I can attest. I’m a wreck and acknowledge the illness I struggle with. I just grasp hold of any positive influences I can call upon to see me through my darkest days and nights.