Roses are red
Violets are blue
Close to my roots
But you have to dig deeper for this forbidden fruit

The touch of a hand,
The warmth of another,
That precious tickle,
That burning feeling inside,

Living flame,
Dancing throughout my garden.

The garden I cultivate for you,
A field of crimson, the purest red,
It is your colour, a sanctity, a shrine for you,
This garden, my life’s passion,

A never ending field of Lycoris Radiata,
Growing inside my mind.

Temples and palaces,
Cathedrals and castles,
The works of generations,
They’re all incomparable to the garden I grow for you,

Thousands of year in worth of work, the species’ finest art,
Rivalled by the Eden I cultivate for you, the moments it took for my garden to grow.

Problems are non existent in the garden,
Yours or mine, I can no longer tell,
But I know for a fact that they cannot grow here,
All that grows is the Lycoris Radiata, swallowing all other forms of life or death,

That is, before the deluge,
Before the moment you walked into my garden.

Before the moment you entered the realm I constructed for you,
Before the moment you graced the garden with your presence,
Before the moment you shattered the illusion of grandeur,
Before the moment you trampled the finest of the Lycoris Radiata,

The death of my garden,
The collapse of my life’s work, that somehow lasted mere moments.

But it’s okay,
I didn’t want the field of crimson anyway,
I didn’t want the garden of Eden,
You snake.

I hope you know I hate you,
Because now I’m growing hydrangea,
And it’s going to be the most beautiful garden on earth, lush and green and all for me.

By LLL

Colors so bright I swear I could smell them,
     a perfect kaleidoscope of hues.
Blinding me with excitement,
deafening me with their awe and beauty.

Roses curled up in a lovely kiss,
in shades of pink, white and red.
Tempting me with their ****** ambiguity,
waving like a stranger
in the wind.

Daisies giving me a friendly smile,
with their innocent, white petals.
Inviting me to sit and chat,
and perhaps share a cup of tea
to discuss our days over.

Lilies sprawling about,
with their elegant, flamingo pink flavor.
Drooping like a chandelier,
and revealing the secrets hidden within.

Tulips as purple as the plums
I picked from my grandmother's tree.
Mocking me with their vibrant personalities,
yet contained and uptight all the same

Their identities shine
through their wordless expressions.
I find more comfort here
than among the loud and thoughtless.

My birds,
a winsome kaleidoscope of colour and sound
I stand within myself in my clearing, a tiny, circular garden
filled simply with encroaching trees and
a circle of pale concrete underfoot

Marred only
with snaring daisies, quiet
allure, and I take the time to romance the colours I behold so dearly
as they swim through my blurred, jarring vision and as I
melt wholly into the river beside me.

My garden is the only good left in this world
especially now that I have left it.

where do you go
when you shrink yourself
so small?

sometimes i imagine
when you shrink
into this fragile thing,
in some far away place
the pieces of your self you hid
are growing exponentially,
a garden in full bloom.

Take me to the land of crystal rivers,
that glitter like a mirror for the gods.
Take me to the height for altruistic lords,
revered by the oppressed for being givers.
I dream of a world drowned in abundance
of joy infinite at its renaissance.
Where the warm rays of the tropical sun
soothe the pains of a bleeding wound by day.
Where nature entertains with so much fun,
like a funfair in the sweet month of may.
I smell the pleasant scent of flowers gay
pervading the plains of awe and wonder.
Where colourful fruits in season render
sweetness and nourishment at my behest.
Where the sun's showers of warmth dry each tear,
bringing to extinction, a world of fear
in this magnificent haven of rest.
I see a paradise for virgins fair,
devoid of blemish with their silky hair.
I see breath taking mountains clad in green,
where romantic love birds would find serene.
I see this world of beauty at its peak,
which all dreamers would relentlessly seek,
coming closer now to my possession
than any dream or imagination.

someday i’ll be too busy to notice the vampires
the sun wakes me up and i know who i am
maybe the chaos will always be there but
i’ll find a way to break it down into mulch and grow
pears and herbs and gardenias from what’s left of me
it takes a while to accept that the shadows matter
and i can’t pretend to know the watermelon lollipop
without the tongue that exists only to melt it away
to turn it into nothing until all that’s left is a paper stick
it might feel like freedom now but it can’t forever
i’ll pull down the curtains and never snooze an alarm again
the worst thing i can think of is writing the same poem
each day for the rest of my life and everyone knowing it
but me

All the roses wither, the flowers fall,
and I see vines over the wall.

The chair where a little girl once sat on;
was tied down by the roots, left to rot away.
Accompanied by bones, and memories of one who was in dismay.

A stranger strolls across the worn-out halls,
Rustle, rustle the leaves say.
Silence screams in his head, with each step forward.

Splish-splash
The raindrops fall while tears
plummet to the floor;
Like your façade that affects all.

You came to me out of the blue, didn't you?
You came to me, yet left me so fast.
How could you?



How could you...

I sit in agony by the river in a garden where the plants have grown wild. The gardener died many years back and I am left to take care of his work. I don't know how to care for plants, I only know how to see beauty in violet tufts and green leaves.

But this afternoon I sit in agony. The sun is black, the clouds have disappeared. The birds do not sing their song. I have my notebook with me but I have no poems to write. The river tells me nothing but gives a violent stare. I sense failure. I sense timidity. I sense that the flowers don't like me.

Last week, I invited a friend to come with me. I wanted her to see my world, the colors of my existence. She smiled at me, the menacing smile of a trickster then walked away. Like a saint I accepted her word and went alone.

When I'm in the garden I hallucinate lovers. I hallucinate songs and poetry. There is no time when the hallucinations fail to fill me up even now when I am in agony.  

Right now I hallucinate a woman in red by my side. She kisses me, I kiss her feet, we play with the statues as the sun goes down. She is wide eyed, has black hair and thin lips. She calls me my favourite names. But she causes me agony. She is made up of memories, of fallen fruit, of black snow. But I made a commitment so I play and play and play.

As the sun disappears and the river roars, I see that it is time to leave. What's left of my hallucinations is a laceration. What's left of my mind are fallen fruits.