Monday, 23 February 2015

The Hurt Garden


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 

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