The Garden Where Poems Come True

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A great idea for a poem that was not mine after all :)

Submitted: July 08, 2011

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Submitted: July 08, 2011

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A Garden Where Poems Come True

Not all gardens are colored by rose Not all poems are solid as stone. It's not their petal in the water that poses, nor is it the face of a hero alone.

By lillies be covered the windings, leading to shelter of wood. No vermin to claim it as findings, no dark faces under a hood.

As deserted as magic can master, and yet filled as the world is with life. Wretched time can hardly run any faster, while perfection he claims as his wife.

In the clearing two heartbeats are beating. Slowly, steady,cautious: Alive Their eyes over the Plains of Blissfulness meating. Improbability to the edge they will drive.

Why take the side of surrender? Leave defeat at the gates. That's the job of any decent defender, to fight against the fire he hates.

No matter the odds, to keep going. This is the duty of Man. The blood black as ashes is flowing, inside the veins of those who will run.

But let us forget of all weaklings. Cowards, idiots and small. Put them aside in the inklings of the story we'll write on the Wall.

Let me narrate now the story of two people sitting on dirt. One tries a lot not to worry and the other hard not to hurt.

Neither is paying attention, to what lies in front for them both. Or maybe let me make a correction, they have nothing from the future to loath.

The talk and the laughing is easy, iy comes without a reprieve. So much that one's getting dizzy and the other sadly now has to leave.

It seems it only is in the center when both of them meet. For when one is trying to enter the entrance seems to retreat.

But when both are back in the clearing or walking the borders of stone, the Garden with joy is now searing revealing the stars that never have shone.

And through swift correspondence The Garden comes everyday. One knows this is no lucky attendance of a place where powers hold sway.

No other place as is this one, no other Garden of dreams. Here they meet under shadow of sun and leave when the moon to rain silver seems.

Amateur poem for a Garden as such. More skill is needed and even more is deserved. To even feebly be able to touch what only for few is reserved.

Little I know of the few who deserve it. Even less if any logic it holds. But I know they don't plan to reserve it, it comes by the m***c it holds.


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