Garden of Phantoms

Gray runs its taut fingers

 along the green ivied gardens

while silencing the feathered singers

and mother’s northern breath hardens

the ground’s soils...

 

Where once, the long pliable vines

held gentle the blooms of life to open lines

of varied hues, shades and forms

surrounding and evolving beyond the conforms

of conscious rings, folds and foils-

 

Now a pervasive quietness rules the nest-

while winter’s cold grip subdues warmth’s quest;  

the outer light dims and ebbs low

and the horizon is darkened by a storytelling of crow

abandoning the fallen - to the spoils.

 

Rising phantoms tend the empty fields.

Growing images of non sense and ill feels

ingesting the black fruits as remorse yields;

along with the aggrieved flowers of thorny shields-

all harvested from the bane peels of roils.

 

A fine inner light flickers - within the depths of each soul;

as the night and the day hold covenant for the sun’s hold

and its restitution of heat upon the consuming cold.

It is understood that some things will not survive...

As deep within the earth emerges the snow croci;  a new alive.