Earthly Eden

On the cold wooden chair I sit, Writing rhymes of youth. The voice in the distance, Pronounces me uncouth. The ticks of the clock, Taunt me shamelessly. When will the bell screech, I ask repeatedly. Webs of mindless words, Scrawled upon the board, Kill the soul within, As the others only hoard. If only I could memorize, All the superfluous lies. The rose bed in the garden Must be trimmed and wise. The ants and the maggots, Must all have their share at the end. I must return to the soil, Hail the gardener, the godsend!!