The Hurt Garden

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Most if not all of us have a hurt garden where we prefer not to go in waking moments. Sleep, though, invariably has other ideas …

Dreams may well leave us confused, but mind, body and spirit have a way of making make more sense of us there than any waking moments.

THE HURT GARDEN

Blades of grass

tossing to and fro in the wind

like restless sleepers

trying to make sense of a kind

where logic and reason

have no place, square up to facts

of human nature

from which its indigenous hosts

would run away

but nature will ever have its say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Stems of flowers

swaying to and fro in a breeze

like drunken crowds

on losing their heads to whims

where logic and reason

have no place lest they make more 

of human nature

than excuses its indigenous hosts

from home truths

put aside, inclined to have a say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Dead leaves

drifting here, there, everywhere

like lost children

looking for a place called ‘home’

where logic and reason

concede its predilection for love

of human nature,

lend its indigenous hosts access

to life forces

in denial, ever finding their way 

to us left struggling to make sense

of dreams

Birdsong,

signalling a love of life and nature

to practised ears

in the market (for a guide of sorts)

where logic and reason

have a place, but are never enough

for human nature

whose indigenous hosts ask more

of its humanity

than dream litter left in its garden

on the assumption they will clear up

the mess

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015