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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2256182-The-Marigold-Project
by B
Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2256182
Ballades of a tortured loved one
         
          Part 1

          She is the land; torn and turned a forced fold.
          Clear cut of herself; as they tried to sway,
          Ignorant hope, for another blank mold.
          Blind in their eyes, to what they betray.
          Left to me now; tending sorrow as they
          Continue to cry; for they can not tame.
          Heavy the task; this message to portray.
          Beauty is not lost, and she is the same.

          The damage done; what they failed to mold
          A blank canvas left; dirt, soil and clay.
          Misery; driving the ground to withhold
          That which should be as natural as day.
          Their self proclaimed right, to reap and to prey;
          Has left this ground now; which to reclaim
          Access to be found; some new pathway.
          Beauty is not lost, and she is the same.

          Selfish their actions; their emotions cold
          Rivers they twisted; forcing in their way.
          The drought in response; they left untold.
          Blind in their own ruin, for that which may
          Have grown on it's own; a beautiful way.
          Tortured this scenery; still they proclaim,
          Justified actions, stay hooked in their way.
          Beauty is not lost, and she is the same.

          Now fortune has found me, in that I may
          Build now; on broken land I may claim.
          She is the land; and here I will stay
          Beauty is not lost, and she is the same.

          Part 2.

          Focus is drawn to the task now at hand.
          What could have been; that now will never be.
          Stifled for years; now the sadness is just sand.
          Nothing will grow; and she'll never be free.
          Less we move forward now, diligently.
          My purpose, from which not to stray
          An eternity built here; that I foresee.
          She is the land, and here I will stay.

          A delicate task; carefully planned,
          Daunting, and difficult it may be,
          Despite what the efforts may demand,
          There will be no task, nothing more lovely.
          Than to help her, to find that beauty.
          Forever, on this ground I will lay,
          In the driest of seasons, here I will be.
          She is the land, and here I will stay.

          And so it begins; countless seeds in hand
          Cautious am I, as I drop to my knee,
          Delicate movements, soft parting of land,
          Seeds of joy, dropped in numbers amply
          The patience to follow, I face boldly
          Remembering that which will come my way,
          Soil given up on itself, will return freely.
          She is the land, and here I will stay.

          Whispering to the earth, before I disband.
          A soft reminder, with each seed that I lay,
          The beauty will come, golden and grand.
          She is the land, and here I will stay.

          Part 3.

          Each tear that she drops, soaked in the ground,
          Arms tired now; a heavy sun to hold
          Slow pain; under which creation is found.
          Nourishing roots; reprieve from the cold
          Small scars slowly covered, by each marigold.
          Such a sight, the small blossoms to be seen,
          Inching towards bliss; those promises told
          She lay ahead of me, golden and green.

          Sprouts bloom, and scream without sound.
          Small flowers at first, sporadic and doled,
          Across a great field; some scars are still found.
          Small rows now; soon will grow tenfold.
          But the land, she remains taxed and tolled,
          A microscope placed, on the scars in between,
          Blind to her beauty; her growth uncontrolled.
          She lay ahead of me, golden and green.

          Unaware of herself, the land is still bound,
          Some growth will not happen; she will withhold,
          The answer gleams, so true and profound
          She is free now; her life framed in gold.
          So deserving of happiness; that she cannot hold.
          The most brilliant of colors; they are not seen.
          A failure of me; her remaining unconsoled.
          She lay ahead of me, golden and green.

          Patient in hope; with a truth so extolled.
          Such brilliance; cannot remain unseen,
          By the woman; the land; upon which I hold.
          She lay ahead of me, golden and green.
         

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