Children of the Wasteland

There was a mystic I knew
who gathered dying flowers in her garden
wrapped them in a shroud of light

There was a gardener I knew
who understood what she was doing
and gave her seeds to plant
in the dead of night

There was a carpenter I knew
who built a home out of trees
that still, to this day, grow green

There was a painter I knew
who wrote it all down
and gave back for all the world to see

And the world took the painter
and hung her up high
for a little while,
just for the novelty

But there are always wall-builders,
stone smiths and witch-burners,
afraid of what they would see

So the world took the paintings
for cannon-fodder
burned the letters right in the street

And the world took the carpenter
and strung him up good
because you can’t live in something so green

But the mystic I knew
still gathers dying flowers

And the gardener I knew
still tends them for hours

And the carpenter I knew
built more living towers

And the painter I knew–

she’s in the garden
growing flowers
from her belly.

This entry was posted on February 19, 2011 at 7:34 pm and is filed under Uncategorized . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.