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


The Lie

Woke up this morning
Trying hard to hide my melancholy
I joined you for breakfast
And we continued our lie

Every day it is similar
You are cheery
And so am I
Our terrible lie

Can you imagine a time
When we awoke and did not speak
Realizing our moods would cause tension
Tension caused by too little life?

I do wish sometimes
As I leave for work sullenly
Dreading the day already
Weeping far within

The lie, terrible and unending
Would cease to be
And I would know the real you
And you the real me

But, the lie drags on for now
For it is not written in the stars
And perhaps it will never be
I am my own companion

The dreaded truth
Gathered in a lifetime
Sentenced for an eternity
Realized too late

by Wikket

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