The Garden

It is a tale often told
Of a garden,
That most immaculate of asylums
In a month,
Life is one long dreary expectation
In a month,
Things will change
In a month,
Things will be better
In a month,
All will be over
In a month,
He will return
In a month,
The razor inside
Plays sister to despair
“Knowledge is not bad,”
That’s what the serpent said
A shoe of child size
Lies on the cement
As plain as shoe could speak
It reminisced on yesteryear tales of cherubs
Innocence, and loveliness, and youth
Everyone has issues
Mine are three-fold my own
Ten-fold what I know
What you tell me
When you cry out in pain
And I keep it all locked up
To mutilate my brain
Overcast,
A slight wind blows
But even just a little rain
Can make flowers grow
In a month…