…of isolation
Far below
gardens of rock
and of withered rose
where sunlight spills
through a wall
of crumbling stone
here are no flowers
no falling leaves
and blades of grass
are trampled underfoot
lost beauty
so much sorrow
too much reflection
shadows move
across the memories
in my mind
as the dawn clings to the night
the same red sun arising
if only its fragrance
could remain
yet it lies empty
unbearable, before me
and the memories
come haunting
where whispers
lead to more whispers
and linger in the air
like the remembered sigh
of the one
who is not here
long enough
to remind me
that you exist
only in the silent paths
of my heart
bathed
in sweet seclusion
here in this garden
with all its ghostly inhabitants
I understand at once
the beauty
of isolation
© Ann Bagnall 2011
