The Dead Gardens

The Dead Gardens

Friday, January 31, 2014

Did you know that I used to write poetry? It was mainly pretty horrible. leftover from my goth phase in my late teens.  But there are some I still like. and this is one of them.  If my memory serves me right, it was based on a dream I had, probably induced from an overload of Norse metal.  I did adapt it slightly, because art is never done.

The Dead Gardens

Once, I saw many wonders of the world, and these are it...

The figure on the bed was calling
Beckoning from her stone garden of blood stained roses
Calling to me, offering to me
An endless dream, a faerie tale
Her screaming like dripping candle wax
And smooth as velvet tapestry
Calling to me as I fell
Through the endless sea.

The figure on the bed full of grace, malice, and poise
Flew me to the skies, and took me to see
The Garden of Gethsemane
The Christ before the slaughter
I fell to my knees
The figure laughed a wicked laugh
Shrill through the air
So the trees trembled in fear.

Then off to the unicorn enchanted forests
And they were all bleeding.
Singing sorrow in every turn
Weeping, wailing, gnashing their teeth
And at noon mid-day
Silence reigned in terror
And the sky transformed to grey.
All the colors faded to grey.

The weight of love falls hard
The weight of curses falls harder
But none as hard as me
Falling through a dream, far across the sea
Songs sung by Sirens, chanting endlessly.

Returning to her garden
The figure cast me away
Lay herself down to sleep
In her bed of blood stained roses
I watched pallor vanquish her face
Then I fled far from her domain.
Tears freezing outside my eyes.

Never was I to forget
The wonders seen that day.


If you want to see more embarrassing writing from the mind of a 17 year old girl please do not hesitate to visit my first website ever: Field of Innocence