Brokenness: Gated Gardens

Some more poetry. Brokenness. Depression. Truth.

Gated Gardens 

Part I

she rides in on her white horse.

a shimmering glow of light

obscuring her shape, appearing

and vanishing with no thought to consequence.

her beauty growing dark

such as night has never seen.

what is truth?

how does she time her appearances?

does she prefer the night to the day

the good to the bad

right over wrong?

does she wave her wand

draw a line in sand, yelling,

“ready, set, go!”

and wait for her children to finish?

does she expect the pull of the moon to erase

the boundaries she has set?

truth

she comes

and then she isn’t

fleeting as the mist

when heated by the sun.

who am i?

and who are you?

knocking at my door

insistent

to see me in the night.

the question

of my own truth

what i choose

no better, no more right.

you come slinking in

reminding me

of what i have hidden

the secrets i keep

lies deceit dishonesty

they are truth

masquerading herself.

ignorance is bliss-

fleeting as the mist

when heated by the sun.

all i have is this-

you and me.

perhaps it is the truth

which keeps us from one another

but will it keep us together?

what our hearts cannot contain

the burgeoning of empires

grandiosity of light

creating cracks in what we had

sewn up tight.

this place where i live

paint peeling from empires

weeds growing in cracks

doesn’t love the truth

so much as it may have

once upon a time.

the time it takes to forget

among cries

Truth!

Truth!

Truth!

ringing in my ears

its dissonance a cacophony

only of what is lost.

deceit equalized by justice.

truth,

the fine mist that lined

my soul

fleeting

when heated by the sun.

Part II

the truth

puts gates up in gardens

guarded by flaming swords.

DO NOT ENTER!

BEWARE OF THE TRUTH!

Part III

the truth shall set you free.

to what?

to whom?

to be the man

walking out on his wife

of 30 years

because, the truth is,

i don’t love you anymore.

and i’m just not happy,

i must be honest

with you…

i’ve met someone new-

but don’t worry,

i’ll take care of you.

in the end

you fight for

all you have,

all you wanted.

holding on to the last vestige

of what was true

of what was you and i and us.

squabbling over dimes

when laughter used to carry

us on its whimsy through field

through forest   through life.

that was our freedom

that was our truth.

when we were young

the truth

was our fantasy

of a home

of a love

where we were free.

i love you, still

always forever eternally

at the gate

of this guarded garden

growing thick with weeds-

crowded with thorns

sticky and poisonous

hard and dense.

i stand here

bathed in so much light

and i am pierced

eroded into a presence i no

longer recognize.

what was freedom

became a choice

what was good

became what was right

what was truth

became what goes on behind closed doors.

truth-

she’s knocking on both sides

wanting in

begging to be let out.

it’s the truth, you know.

and god only knows what

the truth will do.

the truth will set you free.

Part IV

does the truth

never build

but only destroy?

she is selfish

thinks only of herself

what is best for her.

she takes for her own glory

extinguishing races

ravaging lands

pilfering plundering pillaging

what is rich from the ground.

the dirt

sands of time running

through my fingers.

you should never lie

always tell the truth

it’s better

it’s bitter

caustic

antagonizing

she won’t let me go

standing at my door

knock

            knock

                        knocking

reminding me.

Part V

i am vanquished

by images and scenes

that flood over me

calling for the telling

whispering their secrets

in a tongue only i understand.

i am asked to translate

the trace of her touch

the heat of her embrace.

in her presence

i am powerless

and bowed at her glory.

the brief aura of truth

the burning rage of secrets.

what i don’t remember,

is this true?

the appalling horror

of what i won’t speak.

contradiction

is equally as true.

it brings me to my knees.

the announcement,

“i don’t know.”

this is truth.

the line i draw in sand

marking borders

where i build my castle

held in my lover’s arms.

shivering in the light of oblivion.

lost and found.

known and still cared for.

smiling at the tranquility of routine

the rote, everyday.

without the fight

of losing her-

what i desire.

this is truth.

language,

the sign

the symbol

of our struggle to remember

what we have forgotten.

what we were

without interpretation.

the blinding beauty

shining

ringing…

This is truth!

This is truth!