So guarded is my garden,
the gleam of fierce thorns
lay the steel of their cut
against the tender stem
of my own exposed throat.
There is an almost
indecent intimacy
in the ways in which
the lush Wild grows.
Where it chooses
to take a suffocating
hold and knot itself
in devotion to the seed
and the light.
The heart of the primal
beats the wisdom that is
needed to survive.
So guarded is my garden
where each and every
bloom thrives.
Where a holy wholeness
snakes and winds
the verdant threads
of awareness and life —
that perpetual rebirth
that is impervious
to the ruthless bite
of an ending’s bitter frost.
Beneath the stoicism
of stones and the soft,
emerald moss my soul
grows like a red rose
in the Earth.
Jamadhi Verse ©2025
