beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

My Father’s Garden

The wind roars

Like an abused dog

On too short a leash

Needling showers

Of rain and shivering

Squalls of breeze

I am about my purpose

Armoured with it

And no matter

How the world around me

Scratches sigils

Of resistance

Into my bones

No matter how

The most fervent disciples

Deny me thrice fold

Before cock crows

I stand in my

Father’s garden

And tell my stories

A sovereignty

Unseen and only those

Bright, brave and

Willing to surrender

May find their way

Within

The sun falls into

Each pore

Sweet as my own

Welcoming kiss

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5 thoughts on “My Father’s Garden

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