The Garden of the Dead

I
Here I lay, anxious in my old bed
With thoughts of past inside my head
Fear and terror summarized as dread
Look, I see, the sheets have turned red
Wondering about how I am now dead.
II
It was my hands which robbed me of life
Gripping that long, sharp butcher’s knife
Finally concluding the awful internal strife
This transpired every day and every night
Awake I would in morning to the sunlight
Only to repeat that agonizing daily fight
Until I take my life with much delight.
III
Warned, I was, about that awful garden
My soul, I thought, such would harden
But rather it only did enough to sharpen
The point on that knife for my departing
Consuming its tip I assumed would pardon.
IV
Thinking back on the landscape dreary
Carved by wind and waves of fury
Of the trees that shed leaves in a hurry
Atop of which sat coffins of the buried.
The mountains sung praises to his glory
While the bushes bled quite gory
For every drop told its own story.
V
The moon rose full for illumination
Causing me a wonderful infatuation
Its surface on display for short duration
Before clouds of gray brought realization
I am actually lost inside a foreign nation.
VI
A voice called out to me from the darkness
“Come over here,” he said sounding in distress,
“Did you know this is the garden of darkness?”
With a look and sound of unnecessary duress
I replied, “Tell me how to leave this mess!”
The hidden figure began to laugh then proclaimed
“You may leave this place but only to be returned.”
VII
I rushed to confront this vile beast of lies
Hiding behind the darkness, veiling my eyes
Only to discover his figure was a disguise
As the moon began to lighten the night skies
Quickly upon the wall the shadow did arise.
VIII
“The trees shed leaves for every life lost;
If they fall to the ground there is a cost,
But if sent to the sea they are set free.
Those abandoned here must make plea
To he who holds sovereignty over thee.
He punishes all those that disagree
And can condemn all to endless agony.”
IX
Before I could interject he continued
“Now awake in your cozy little bed
And remove this memory from your head
For if you fail life shall be full of dread
It will haunt your mind until you are dead.”

Here is another poem I wrote - The Hell I See

reply to post by Misoir


Warned, I was, about that awful garden
My soul, I thought, such would harden
But rather it only did enough to sharpen
The point on that knife for my departing
Consuming its tip I assumed would pardon.


I enjoyed this part immensely...


Good stuff Misoir...hope to see more.

reply to post by facelift


Thank you very much facelift. By the way, that was my favorite part of the poem as well.

Giving thread a bump.