Past Dues

There are walls inside walls (here)

housing gardens strewn with plucked blossom

of dying faith, littered memories

rest like forgotten ever-mores,

Lilies dipping fingers in murky ponds of stagnate water

long past flowing, forward…

.. ..

Fathers never kissed by little smiles

clutter stone benches, experiences blowing

across fields of lost promises softly swaying

in water ripples. On sunlight,

whispers echo feather gentle fingers

and gentlemen stand in rows,

facing desert sands and azure skies

invoking hope upon the Hand of God

while the moon splays itself over disappointments

buried beneath ego’s primed with pride

… eggshells crumble.

.. ..

Silently, as dreamscapes roll along the street

so too the wheel turns

sending pilgrims to supplications before gardens of

Forget-me-nots.

(c) A  Hannan