Savage Garden

It’s vines set upon walls,
The crux, dear grand insightful.
The sting of thorned falls,
The reckoned.
In my Garden, I’ve seen all,
Some roses bloom the brightest blue.
Enter my Garden, see for yourself,
What I’ve been hiding for all.
And if you chase me,
You wild dog,
You’ll only drive me to my Garden.
My sweet, safe reclusion,
From the teeth,
An acid on my eyes.
Here I sit to feed the Garden,
Solid paint of black and red,
Of blue an gold,
And the yellow—the very core
--I dare not enter,
Unless I’m forced.


The paint gone lucid,
A morph of figure and form.
Can I not rise again the brush,
Without the shudder of the canvas?
The roses, in my folly,
Laugh with friendly living light.
The lilacs, in my fall,
Patronize with pander and oppose.
Grim, the lure,
For which I’m bound,
Dance and sing and dance,
Of soft delusions.
Lured desire,
I crown the head of this,
The feast of minds—
Which feeds nod head, nor heart.
Vicious, you dreamer,
Happy and crude.
Waste not, want not,
These dreams are not yours.


Lesser, yet same,
Sans revenge, sans time.
Like wisps of smoke,
I lye among you, invisible.
I lie among you and ignite the air
With pleasant sight and sound.
Forget your hand, forget your tongue.
May I fade once more,
I might float to the ends of the earth,
Searching for the next flower
To go with the rest.


Calm, may be—
My Savage Garden
--a potent poison, at rest.
Modest lives within this Grove,
A humble caretaker.
Lies strike like licking flames,
Swallowing the leaves
Leaving ash.
Anger sleeps, don’t touch it.
As tough as the seem,
Chains do break.
Fancy this flower, covet that weed,
Don’t stand in way of potential sun,
Potential rain.