I Have this Garden of Poems








full of flowers that bloom
at first
and then carried away with my greenthumb
i planted everything
trees and more trees and shrubs and bamboos
and vines and hanging plants

almost everything
and so the blooming flowers died
and the grasses diminishing like some
hair of this baldness

but nothing is lost in this garden of poems
the birds came and built their nests
some are still coming
every morning
and then the chirping begins





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Something


And so it came to be
this isolation that I am
I can only look to me
to find the way it all began -
this confusion, constant
hunger for something more than this
I strive to find this being
that I envision, yet seem to miss.
Could it be that I am empty-
or maybe a little lost?
Could it be that I am lonely,
or seek happiness at any cost?
This never-ending Something
that I am living deep inside,
depicts the illusion of myself
and all I have to hide.


Raquel

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