|
|
Walking In The Garden
A narrow walkway greets us
Made of stone, leading to a patch of green
In this dry land;
I hear the chirp of a distant bird.
Trees bend in the faint wind,
Clouds pass quickly overhead,
Gilded walkways of gold
Flash in the sun and show us the path.
Hieroglyphics adorn the rock,
Crude but captivating in the light
Will they be translated? Yes,
Though we may never know who drew them.
An ancient gazebo
Carved of sturdier materials than we know
Stands off the path, inviting;
A small stream runs by.
At the end of one walkway
A rectangular piece of smooth rock
Floats and gradually spins by unknown power;
It is their definition of the human form.
A bridge of rocks forms a way across a pond;
A fish drifts lazily by
As we make our way across.
However, no jumping in the water allowed.
Strange pod-like flowers
Spew up their seeds at regular intervals,
Thickening the air with yellow seedlings,
Distracting our attention.
Trees looking like the human mind
Move and hum in their singular grove;
Their music, beautiful and surreal
Creates the only soundtrack needed.
It rains, with thunder and lightning
At nearly regular intervals;
You are never completely dry before it pours again.
It is supposedly caused by a low pressure system.
A tall door of metal, closed,
Stands off one path, beckoning us;
But even they do not know what is beyond,
Or will not say.