the leafless tree branches.
clouds drift in the pale sky
and the deer leave footprints
in the snow

and all flowers fade,
so, throw the dead flowers
across my grave

and with time
winter's wounds will heal
so spring can follow
when the river sheds its skin of ice
and the deer footprints turn to mud

and the earth forgets the cold.
sunlight kisses, the flowers sigh,
tulips bruised red,
for-get-me nots whisper,
daffodils linger.

the sunrise whispers anew
and trembling in sunlight
the green leaves wave

as the wind dances with newborn flowers
that for tell of the Grace.

O, my wild garden.

until now
this did not exist
a thought
brought pen to paper
that I could not resist
until now
this did not exist
so, I have to find a reason
for this scribble
on a perfect ****** page
until now
this did not exist
perhaps it was always
SOMEWHERE
for this precise moment
to fill a gap between
my wife coming home
and the end of an afternoon
turning to evening
until now this did not exist
then it was gone
so much potential
never reached

a surface rippled
but not broken

traumatised

a body bruised
but not broken

cracked

still together but barely
the light may get in
but what escapes
a fractured mind

a prisoner so long
forgetting I was the architect
who built the gaol in the first place
and closed the door behind me

carefully designed for room to stand
just enough light to let the hope in
just enough space to sleep and dream
but no chance to go anywhere

I'd let myself out, but I'm afraid
of what lies on the other side
of what I shut out in the first place
the key long lost, the lock rusted