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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #1609866
A vision of my grandmother's flower gardens.

Some memories ebb and flow,
Here for a moment then gone,
At the whim of a phantom moon;

My mind is a sea of dreams,
When the tide is calm,
I find myself;

I'm a boy wandering through a garden;

Spring shines down
Through a maze of rich azaleas
In riveting shades of pink, white, and purple;

The star shine lays a blanket of soft shadow
On the thriving emerald lawn;
Everything is alive.

The air is a sweet incense of a thousand flavors,
Each tantalizing in its mystery,
How could such ambrosial ecstasy exist?
A boy could only guess.

Through the maze and onto a new path,
In the mannerisms of a dream,
I forget where I was before,
And find myself enraptured
By a new wave of sensory explosions;

Annihilated by a massive grove
Of gardenia and wisteria, hedged in with roses;
Assaulted by royal bursts of purple, red, and pearly white,
A boys eyes can soak in every hue,
Every nuance, every niche;

Sailing on the aromatic winds
A Monarch butterfly glides past me,
And like any boy I follow:

Down stepping stones on a gentle hill,
Over forgotten logs in a tangle of ivy,
All the way to the edge of a small Koi pond;

There I stand at the shoreline,
And watch my new friend
Flutter aimlessly through the wind,
While the Koi swim through their murky home,
Hunting for their next uncertain meal.

In the end we all ride the tide;
Each of us as lost as the next,
Every memory as vague and surreal
As the space between the stars,

And as I stand there with my feet in the mud,
I feel like the world is swallowing me,
But that's okay,
Because this is a dream
I'll never wake from,
And I'm at peace.

Written by Josh Monk 
August 10, 2009
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1609866-Blooming