- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Cruel Garden
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A Cruel Garden
She was the most beautiful wildflower he had ever seen.
Glowing with inner light,
Strong, stolidly withstanding gusts and gales that ruffled the green around her.
He had to have her.
He wooed the flower like a gentle breeze,
Calm, compassionate, yet commanding.
She yielded … slowly … the waft so unnoticeable …
She gave herself to him.
He became dissatisfied.
Why did she not look like a hothouse lily?
Why did she resist his commands, unlike the urbane orchid?
He wanted to change her.
She felt an unrest – welling within, warning her …
“But he loves me, he picked me!” her heart wailed within her breast.
It was too late, she made a promise.
She gave herself to him.
He decided the only way to change her was to take away her strength.
If it pleased her, gave her pleasure, brightened her color,
He took it away.
He needed to break her.
She didn’t feel herself slipping away.
She gazed, aghast, at her hollow reflection.
Her petals faded, her will subsided.
She gave herself to him.
Why wasn’t she happy?
He commanded her to be happy, and she didn’t respond.
“She is too weak to leave me” he gloated to himself.
He demanded she stay.
She knew why she was dying.
For so long, she had striven.
“It is your turn to prove yourself – let me be me!” she cried.
She took herself from him.
- COMMENTS
hippiedudealmost 19 years agoI'll have to read this again but I know that I liked it on the first go around.
