The garden

The well is empty, the spring has dried

The ground is barren, the crops have died 

The sun is dark, no light inside

Jilted the bride, no tears to be cried

Spring is past, summer is hot

In the draught the fruits do rot

No shadow found where shade is sought

Eden has died and soon forgot

Thorns and brambles, the serpent lied

A desert where water is denied

Sucked up by stones where it does hide

Now only sweat born of man's pride

The only liquid now is bought

Crops watered with blood and snot

Reviews

[RomaJ]

There’s a raw, unflinching intensity in your poem, Soren. I am struck by the stark barrenness you evoke..the loss of life, light, and sustenance..and the way human pride intertwines with the land’s desolation. Your imagery is uncompromising, almost visceral, yet it carries a kind of dark beauty, a cautionary meditation on what is lost when care and reverence vanish.

[Jansy]

Soren, this is haunting and beautifully unforgiving. How how you transform the garden from a symbol of life and hope into a landscape of human folly and decay. Each line carries weight, and the final image is shockingly visceral....brutal but perfectly in keeping with the poem’s tone. It lingers in the mind, a reminder that neglect and pride have a cost. Truly striking work.

-James

[Thomas W Case]

Excellent work. Powerful imagery.

[Soren]

Thank you Thomas