Secret Garden Swing

Secret Garden Swing

Granddad isn’t dead

He lives inside the garden

inside my head.

My secret garden

I created when I was ten

years young

finding myself again

without a place to belong

and an imagination

that couldn’t be tamed

in desperation

my brain proclaimed:

My secret garden.

 

There are flowers

and one wooden swing

in the small hours

I find myself visiting

Granddad in my garden.

He stands somewhere

between the walled in

edges and the air.

He is transparent,

almost, but still

clearly apparent.

Sometimes he talks

as I swing

sometimes he walks

as I swing.

Mostly he stands

and I swing.

My imaginary homeland,

My secret thing.

 

They said that

the dead live on

inside your heart somewhat

and are never gone.

But Granddad wouldn’t

be comfortable inside

my heart, I couldn’t

allow him to be solidified

in there

I need him in my

garden, where

I never say goodbye.

 

Just,

see you soon.

 

Picture Source: Pintrest

 

 

 

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