The Garden Poem by grace mariner

Face paler than the moon,
she walks the broken fortress of granite.
They crush like old bones,
turning to dust,
blowing to the east only to return and
caress that pale cheek...
like a lovers kiss.
Here and gone,
escaping the four walls that contained it.
As years and tears tear us down,
so the heart hardens, shielding itself from the
selfish goodbyes
and the darkness of solitude.
Oh to have captained that ship with more
precision instead of seeking those gale winds,
the unlit flame to protect the dashing on the rocks.
And that granite, etched with sweet words carved
by the erosion and corrosion of tears,
breaks like ancient clay,
silent, revealing that bearer of grief whose
crumbled name cannot be resurrected.
No sweet kiss or soft petals.
No slow dance, pulled close with words
unspoken.
No tokens or glittering stones.
Only rubble, left to remind all who pass that
a fools heart lived here, many years ago.
Grace Mariner