The garden is my salvation,
my sanctuary.
A graceful river of sun and soil,
sculpted by the waters
of time and silent motion,
where the supple shadows of life
are forgotten in winter,
but remembered in spring.
Dancing with wild abandon
in beams of crystal sunlight
once reflected from her eyes,
they ripple like waves
in an endless sea of music,
rolling onto shore
and singing only to me,
in perfect harmony,
synchronized
with crystaline precision
to the beating
of my own heart.
She is the soul of the garden.
The love of my life.
My Queen...
and I am the faithful gardener,
keeper of her unspoken dreams.
It is hard to grow old alone,
but living in the quiet beauty
of the garden,
her presence wrapped around me
like a blanket,
time stands still,
and we are young again,
drawn together
by the flowers of destiny,
and the clarity of solitude.
© JOHN PISCATELLA
2 comments:
John,
I feel such a communion between Florine and you in this poem. I feel that you have reached your paradise, and hers at the same time.
I'm confident that you'll find happiness again. A gardener often seems alone, but no one has ever seen the world inhabiting his thoughts. The most beautifull flowers are probably growing in that garden of his.
Florine is with you forever, John. Your queen will never let you go. She'll be the soul of your garden and your faithfulness, her reward.
And I will always encourage you, John, to keep on going on this path of hope. Your courage makes your dignity.
Your friend and cousin.
Maurice
John,
I have returned to your blog.. did not really know you were still writing. You have written some beautiful things... thank you for sharing Florine with us.. she lives on in these beautiful words..
Elaine Montano
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