The Garden at the Edge of Sleep
There is a garden at the edge of sleep.
It grows only when I close my eyes.
Flowers hum songs I once knew.
The air tastes of memory and moonlight.
A woman tends the vines with care.
Her face is mine, but older, calmer.
She hums as she prunes away regret,
and plants something new in its place.
I walk among the rows of what I lost.
Names bloom on petals, faces in leaves.
Every sorrow becomes something living,
every mistake grows softer with time.
When morning comes, it all fades away.
But I wake with soil beneath my nails,
and a peace I cannot name,
as if forgiveness had finally found me.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
A dream that needs to come true. Good job.