Stained Garden

Not vessels to be filled with your rage; not mannequins

with convenient holes you can pretend don’t have a voice or eyes

or delicate frontal lobes. We’d rather see you

ejaculate into the sky and let it rain

down sorrow. If you did that, if you turned the sky

from blue to milk with frightened tears, pleading tears

we could forgive you every time you made

the rivers run red, turned compassion on its head and robbed the world’s children

of their innocent baby’s breath. The universal mind sees

what you do, so don’t fool yourself. While Institutions may

wink and nod, you deliver your self to that wretched stained garden

to reap

the toxic seeds that you have thrown. And they will grow.

A bright green beanstalk to slowly strangle you. A mirror

for you. A time

when you become the vessel, the receptacle

of what you let fly from your loins: a legacy of pain.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019


About theminstrelscitadel

In search of courageous souls who aren't afraid to dig a little deeper and have a conversation about all manner of things. Rant, rave, debate, discuss... let's do it!
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2 Responses to Stained Garden

  1. Oloriel says:

    Wow, a very powerfull write with a very loud tone,but it does not sound dictating,more like teaching,in a good way. I would have to quote the whole thing for my favourite parts, but there is just that something very strong imagery wise in that line with the beanstalk growing to choke.

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