THE SCULPTURE GARDEN
Please read and enjoy the work of a talented writer.
Here in, here in,
the sculpture garden
there be characters…
Inheritors of solitude and unflinching mood.
Here in nature’s envelope of blossom refuse
and sun-crested buttes,
Burdened Atlas and the hellion,
the molded lovers’ blanch melon,
and the tower of the crescent moon,
all alleviate heart strain’s tune,
from the valley’s platform,
dawn’s blessed tribune.
Was it Atlas who led me here?
A world-carrier to persuade one out of enochlophobic fear?
Does irony not live here?
Not a crooked back naps here,
but a tall statuesque
that adheres to posture,
a man hereafter, who doesn’t matter,
doesn’t bother with judgment’s fodder,
an example, a teacher,
a non-speaker for the seeker.
Now soul, here in the sculpture garden’s tether,
we can reach forever
for love’s elusive goose feather,