Poetry in the Elusive Garden

We pluck sweet and thorny words,
like roses, from the cacophony
and hand them to one another
in the vicissitudes of poetry.
From pre-eternity,
it is we who are plucked from garden of non-existence
to dwell a while in the Garden of Imren.
We all are the wilting flower
in the elusive Garden we seek.

tis nothing if not heardEmail this to someoneTweet about this on TwitterShare on Facebook0Print this pageShare on Google+0