The Garden is Tainted by Hag Women and their Rabid Men

by R.L. Elledge

Walking through the sodden garden,
Soaked in kisses from heavens lips,
Reclining in passions embrace,
Inhaling the sweet breath of her children,
Shivering, cold, bright eyed, joy,
Wondering, whispering, like the rustling leaves,
Of old bleary eyed trees, splash of yellow flowers,
At the foot of the graceful gray oak,
Whose arms shade her impish daughters,
From the suns howling gaze.

Electric spots of fiendish flowers,
In the manicured lawn of wealthy age's dour faces,
Cocaine falls in showers,
From their lonely bowers,
From which their bitter eyes, barely held in place,
Amidst stretched and pinned skin, sickly sick grin,
Stare hotly at youth’s freedom, smooth flesh,
They finger their scalpels and nicotine patches,
And fleetingly desperately consider some madness,
But they’re too old.