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The Garden 2.0

There are many gardens, but mine is my own!

By Aisla Houghton-FosterPublished 5 years ago 1 min read
(I'm Not a Good Painter - But I Have Fun!)

The red rose charms,

While colourless blends

Of spectral existential

Dread spreads,

Aimlessly, an affront

To the very nature

That it reflects

In a helix pod

Of chaotic ennui.

Seen anew,

A flawless seed disarms

The very fabric of time,

Unassailing in its

Irreverence and blithe

Dismissal of reality

That crops up,

Unexpectedly,

From the farm in mind.

The fruits of golden labour,

Pissing endlessly into

Precipitation and pointless

Preservation of nothing,

Nowhere and no one.

Perhaps with purpose

Hitherto unknown,

But inexorable as the tide

That rinses... Repeats... Remakes...

Hidden still

A glossy nectar

That promises the future

A bounty that awaits,

All of us,

Until it fails and,

Like winter after autumn,

Envelops all again,

Maelstromic and eternal.

art

About the Creator

Aisla Houghton-Foster

Scottish, transgender, 30 y/o wanna-be poet/writer living in Liverpool England. I like to play with words and ideas, twisting them around in ways that I find interesting and engaging - I hope you like the results! :D

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