Garden

The Garden

I painted him with my emotion ink,

coloring him with my feelings,

presenting himself as a beautiful garden

to all the viewers who have seen.

A painting of a beautiful garden,

filled with flowers, butterflies, and perfection,

was painted through my words of affection,

devotion, and self-reflection —

now transformed into realization.

That flower which held the pollen wine,

through his voice, a purest divine.

I drank it. I was high, so fine,

thinking it was all mine.

This has now fallen into truth,

that surely left me betook.

A painting I painted was never there —

a false concept of garden and love,

so unfair.

It was all in my eyes,

a beautiful lie —

like the illusion of water

to a man in the desert,

to fulfill his thirst…

yet fading into reality,

all turning back to dust.