time is a sleeping garden

time is a sleeping garden
in early winter creeping
twice sold and left for a run
at the races of rhymes

dare is a rare commodity
amongst the ones
with nothing more to lose
than frozen soil

solidity and no more shoes
to armies on the run
from severity’s children
the abandoned ones

Poetry by Bob The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2016-11-13 at 20:57

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
The title itself is a vision of its own equating the passing of time and a sleeping garden, how apt. The poem creates images upon images which deepen with each stanza. I enjoyed this one very much.

Kathy Lockhart
and here I am again, seeing visions and feeling deeply while reading your poetry.