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A Stroll Through the Dead Gardens
By Ghia Vitale
Editor's Note: This poem was awarded an honorable mention in Rocky Point High School's Mark Twain Literary & Art Contest in 2007.
The dead gardens sit in silence,
Obscured and plagued by shameless weeds,
Each flower's brown-gray stem slumps down,
From deprivation of its needs.
Each vegetable is futile;
Upon them, no soul ever feeds.
It's hard or the mind to fathom,
How this wasteland derived from seeds.
But once, the garden was fertile;
Rich in color and fine in taste,
A luscious radiance of green,
Was once regarded and embraced.
The birds chirped in euphoria,
To greet the garden at sunrise.
When the day was bidding goodbye,
Chirps became chiding lullabies.
Butterflies flocked to the garden;
Upon the flowers, they'd resume,
Sampling the sweet nectars of spring,
Abundant love in perfect bloom.
Then, the brilliance began to fade.
An unknown provider was cursed.
The once-moist soil became parched.
Every ounce of life writhed in thirst.
No one can quite surmise the death.
Some blame it on rainless soil.
Some say it was the August sun,
Whose deadly dance made it spoil.
Some scorn likely infestations,
For destroying something royal.
However, I think that the roots,
Were poisoned with thick turmoil.
The dead gardens recluse in fear,
As remnants of former glory.
In unison, each member mourns,
The harsh ending of the story.
#Unreal #ThrowbackThursday #Poetry #Gothic #TeenageAngst #RockyPointHighSchool #MarkTwainWasHere
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