Welcome to Gaia! ::

I plan to start writing some poetry again soon. But not yet. Not yet.

Scene 5: Dedication to Gaia

All alone in the garden,
surrounded by a cornucopia of
greens, oranges, purples, reds, dark sanguine browns.
In the midst of kindling.
The garden of a master violist. Old and
decrepit. His wrists beyond repair.
What can he do but sit out
on the patio, walking out occasionally to
the grave of his late pet, Keiko?
The tombstone of the rabbit:
and equally old and decrepit viola bow.
Its usefullness died long before the rabbit had.
The elder, the lone mourner, the often-visited,
stands there, reminded of his wife, who passed
from cancer
Many come to visit him. Only a few really talk
to him: His favorite grandchild, the only one
who makes decent conversation.
He knows he is close. He made plans to be
cremated.
Half of his ashes placed next to those of
his wife.
Half to be spread over the dying garden.
Any remainders to be poured over Keiko.

Er..secular, usually refers to non-religious.

I occasionally write poetry, but not very often I generally need just a spark, and one comes to me, but if I sit down and try to make one, it is more difficult.