Was

rapt in blameless purity
simplicity, embracing all good proffered
unaware the dangers of not knowing
careless of the end result
willing to leap then look
warm timid love,
nothing more or less

longing to retire to what was before
fearing it’s late,
much water passed the bridge
washed away innocence,
sun bleached emotions
flaking off to dance on the vanishing wind

acrimonious flavor of rage,
twisted the face with bitterness
caustic venom of anger
created a cankerous sore spewing
virulent poison into life’s flow
the once sweet water
becoming impermeable walls
of ice

given no choice but to seek anew
new mortality, new path, new truth
the inevitable gamble of destiny
aware of danger’s infidelity
looking more, but still leaping
seeking life’s innocent joy
pressing treasured emotions
between the pages of life’s volume
passion's fiery confidence
nothing less still wanting more

The evil bastard shares too much,

while the aged queen understands too little.
The spoiled princes rotting in their tainted purity,

while their ladies-in-waiting chase evil with holy flyswatters.
cloistered in putrid hate, behind decomposing walls.

Their secrets dance to a malicious melody.
Lair of the self righteous,

spewing spiteful pious dogma.
This will never do their mantra chant,

dirty is as dirty does, their piteous voices wail.
trussed with their ill gotten holiness encircling hapless prey,

leave now you filthy mongrel let her go they shout.
they salivate, eyes glazed heads thrown back in passions heat,

fanatics soiled in their own glory.
gorging on their self righteousness,

demigods in their eyes alone, fat glistening flesh,

perverted scripture dripping from cold heartless lips.

I always hate admitting hard times ....but the last 2 days were brick hard ... I am bouncing back however and life goes on ...tomorrow is a new day

ah ha!! ...I suspect the title misled you ....this is not a garden of sin ....but a garden of cyn ...me! I am experiencing Fall now so my garden is limited. It is a bit bare and all the flowers are dying out or going to sleep for the winter. my 2 towers of Morning glories are not so glorious now but still putting out an effort in flowering, Snapdragons have lost their snap the Alyssum are turning brown with just a few white and purple blooms. On the Holy hocks my small family of Grass Hoppers are looking sad and have changed their coats to a dull gray as the ready to close up shop for the season. Watering is only needed twice a week now, unlike the summer when I water religiously every morning before the sun starts its scorching trip from east to west. I am nearly ready to harvest and dry the herbs, Rosemary, Thyme, Sage, and Parsley. I read about small window gardens to try, made with recycled pastry containers of clear plastic that act like mini terrarium's for tender baby lettuce and sprouts. I have the perfect window to keep them by with plenty of sunshine. we'll see how it goes. In my garden journal I plan and scheme for next years garden, with seed catalog's scattered around me. It is always a good idea to record the good and bad of a years efforts, helps with the planning of gardens to come.

was

was

rapt in blameless purity
simplicity, embracing all good proffered
unaware the dangers of not knowing
careless of the end result
willing to leap then look
warm timid love,
nothing more or less

longing to retire to what was before
fearing it’s late,
much water passed the bridge
washed away innocence,
sun bleached emotions
flaking off to dance on the vanishing wind

acrimonious flavor of rage,
twisted the face with bitterness
caustic venom of anger
created a cankerous sore spewing
virulent poison into life’s flow
the once sweet water
becoming impermeable walls
of ice

given no choice but to seek anew
new mortality, new path, new truth
the inevitable gamble of destiny
aware of danger’s infidelity
looking more, but still leaping
seeking life’s innocent joy
pressing treasured emotions
between the pages of life’s volume
passion's fiery confidence
nothing less still wanting more

innocence

see her there
amid the blowing grasses
soft auburn curls framing a pale face
a tender pout playing at her lips
grey blue eyes lit with naive wisdom
tiny fingers clutch a wilted daisy
dressed in chaste cotton
pure in it’s guileless intent
unfettered by the worries of age
a gift of undefiled simplicity
saturated in her innocence,
a vivid reminder of a simpler time