A Madness of Marigolds
A madness of marigolds
cascading light
the garden gate,
a painting to protect
one from the savages of truth
an obsession
with brush strokes
irises laden
with weeping desire
changelings in poppies
granite jawed
from a hunger moaning
with the all forgiving night
come into the gloom
spare not thy pen
nor still
the rustle of skirts
along the garden path
a masquerade
begins
behind the golden
masques
flattering gazes
skin aglow with uncommon
beauty
oh sweet wayward child
princess of the tower
sing out loud at midnight
thy coil of grief
unfurling
in the sacred arms
of time.
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