{"id":101,"date":"2010-02-08T02:21:51","date_gmt":"2010-02-08T09:21:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.masterofthehouse.org\/?p=101"},"modified":"2017-05-27T12:01:47","modified_gmt":"2017-05-27T18:01:47","slug":"the-garden-part-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/the-garden\/the-garden-part-2\/","title":{"rendered":"The Garden – Part 2"},"content":{"rendered":"

6<\/a> – 7<\/a>\u00a0 – 8<\/a> – 9<\/a> – 10<\/a><\/p>\n

Six<\/span><\/h5>\n

The raged celebration of sorrowful gain
\n (returned to embrace my world needs<\/em>)
\n was pretended laughter \u2018mid gardens dry, too.
\n We blasphemed the One with good seeds.<\/p>\n

Yet, every morning apparent my shame.
\n Unable was I to till ground.
\n Engrossed in the hiding, my weakness unfaced,
\n with bottle to keep the truth bound.
\n Then I woke one morning behind walls I knew
\n (although I could not recall why<\/em>).
\n The grizzle-faced jailor had rasped with a snarl,
\n \u201cYou best pray that feller don\u2019t die!\u201d<\/p>\n

Remembrance of needles that my father gave,
\n appeased by my promise to work,
\n gave hoped supplication.\u00a0 The labour, I vowed,
\n of my garden I would not shirk!<\/p>\n

I begged and entreated, but not to the Lord
\n about Whom I knew naught at all.
\n The world I entreated, and begged by its lusts
\n to save me from this certain fall.<\/p>\n

The weeds of my garden had shown me good times
\n until they were all I could know,
\n but when chanced compassion made good seedlings sprout
\n I would not allow them to grow.
\n And so my tare petals were sprouted afresh
\n and model inmate I became.
\n A joy to the warden, a calm for the guards,
\n addressing the chaplain by name.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy son, I saw victim.\u201d\u00a0 As per my request
\n to this fool of collar and faith.
\n My weeds bouqueted brightly when victim I learned
\n was not due to give up the wraith.<\/p>\n

Lush, mockery garden and Cheshire grin
\n convinced my intentions as pure.
\n \u201cI wish to hoe garden,\u201d to preacher I lied,
\n \u201cand freedom would make my work sure.\u201d
\n The twist, unexpected, when charges were dropped
\n by victim when preacher had asked:
\n my presence was bidden to hospital bed,
\n my freedom required this task.<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

Seven<\/span><\/h5>\n

\u201cHow pretty, your flowers,\u201d he said, piercing-eyed,
\n this little man prone on the bed.
\n Arrayed close to sixty, though fifteen years more,
\n aged not by the gauze \u2018round his head.<\/p>\n

My weed flowers withered \u2018neath his steely gaze
\n (I felt like a child next to him!<\/em>).
\n I seethed my defences at frail silver hair
\n yet I felt compelled to his whims.
\n My world taught me power \u2013 the strength of my arm \u2013
\n was dominant over the weak!
\n This rule found exception when his will prevailed.
\n \u201cGainst his flowers I could not speak.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome hither to wisdom,\u201d he motioned to chair
\n and, mesmerized, I had complied.
\n Then, drawing contentment amassed to his lungs
\n his quiet-voiced message was cried,<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen young man world beckoned, I answered the call
\n and went to partake of its wealth.
\n I was bane of parents who loved me to wise
\n for I preferred gain bought of stealth.
\n They sought to instruct me in gardening work
\n but I thought them not up to date.
\n My world was convenience, of easier ways.
\n New methods made shovel innate.<\/p>\n

“And yet there was emptiness, though I amassed
\n world treasures in rising degree,
\n and walked where I wanted and did what I may.
\n My freedom was not liberty.
\n For always within me a little voice cried
\n to mourning the pain of my wake.
\n I knew it was truthful: that others paid price
\n of what I thrust hand out to take.<\/p>\n

“My parents, my family, the friends I called close
\n had each felt the sting of my lies.
\n The women who loved me, and I could not love \u2026
\n their faces parade my mind\u2019s eyes!
\n I chased them away.\u00a0 I would not let them close.
\n My failure I could not admit.
\n I\u2019d not see their tears, nor listen their fears.
\n Walls raised were the sides of my pit.\u201d<\/p>\n

I heard as he drifted down memory\u2019s lane,
\n but age led his drift into sleep.
\n I considered leaving, escaping his snare,
\n yet I stayed when dreams saw him weep.<\/p>\n

I watched and I waited the space of one hour,
\n lulled mute by his chest rise and fall.
\n Then he woke in smile to see I remained
\n (I had to!\u00a0 He knew my youth all!<\/em>).<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive me my rest need.\u201d\u00a0 With nod I allowed
\n for hungry was I that he preach.
\n With pent breath I waited while he thought his course.
\n Resumed then, my life in his speech,<\/p>\n

\u201cMy parents had mourned for my garden\u2019s sure death
\n as cockiness led me away
\n convinced that my green thumb would overcome weeds,
\n unworried as some strove to stay.
\n But world overpowered, my blossoms had died
\n though in me remorse found no place.
\n Discovered weed colour had served just as well
\n to gain for me fruits by mock grace.<\/p>\n

“Content in world knowledge to gain my desires
\n \u2026 I thought no one hurt of my ploys! \u2026
\n Till I lost true beauty when I bruised to flee
\n the gardens of my wife and boys.\u201d<\/p>\n

My ears, how they marvelled!\u00a0 Dumbstruck in my awe
\n he told of my life without fail!
\n He had never known me, yet by his recount
\n he surely was reading my mail!!<\/p>\n

I prayed him continue when he lapsed to thought
\n of pain which still ached in his heart.
\n I questioned of after his family lost:
\n how did he, from sorrow, depart?<\/p>\n

\u201cWe now call it sorrow, but then it was joy.
\n My freedom from hand to the plough.
\n But your interest shows me that not only mine,
\n I also tell your story now.<\/p>\n

“My friend, we are many, we are not unique,
\n our gardens we all must de-weed.
\n But we need direction as parents had taught
\n and planting of one special seed.
\n I felt I had no need of such flower grown
\n and let lay that seed to the ground,
\n but know this: we have it sown deep in our youth
\n but we need to want it around.\u201d<\/p>\n

My curious nature his words had perplexed,
\n of special seed I\u2019d want to hear.
\n The silver hair lived a life so much like mine
\n yet he faced himself without fear.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see I have snared your desire to learn,\u201d
\n he smiled and twinkled his eyes.
\n \u201cI bow to your capture.\u00a0 Your net draws in full.
\n Old man has best youth twice his size.\u201d<\/p>\n

With laughter inspired, a moment we shared
\n and I forgot cause of that place,
\n but new found affection stirred up memory
\n and tears of shame rivered my face.<\/p>\n

The room reigned in silence but for my wept grief,
\n and gentle hand firmly held mine.
\n This man of good flowers, who vanquished old weeds
\n cried also the ache of my pine.
\n At last, tears subsided, control was regained.
\n I cowed at my failure to cope
\n and I, in meek spirit, asked my ancient friend,
\n \u201cWhat is it, this seed to give hope?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy friend, I will tell you,\u201d he said serious,
\n \u201cthe seed which completely sufficed.
\n You cannot escape from this truth I confirm:
\n This seed is our Lord, Jesus Christ.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2026
\n \u2026
\n \u2026
\n \u2026<\/p>\n

My hope was lain shattered, collaged by this man
\n who gave voice to my secret fear.
\n He spoke of the youth Seed which I had denied,
\n the One my world let me not hear.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour garden can be saved in no other way,
\n the Seed of your youth will win out
\n and I know revealing comparable life
\n will passion your Seed to soon sprout.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then silver hair saddened in his final words,
\n \u201cMy friend, you will hate me this day.
\n The truth which I\u2019ve spoken will haunt like a ghost.
\n You\u2019ll curse the words Love bade me say.\u201d<\/p>\n

And curse them, I did so, but not voiced aloud,
\n new found respect kept them within.
\n My fragrant weed garden, world scented to sweet,
\n now reeked putrid scent of my sin.<\/p>\n

With crestfallen goodbye I took leave of him
\n who told my life as open book.
\n He had garden beauty by just one Seed grown
\n (perhaps it did merit a look).<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

Eight<\/span><\/h5>\n

The next days had found me to hermit my room,
\n Botanical Readings at hand.
\n This Plant of uniqueness full baffled my mind
\n and knowledge I tried to expand.<\/p>\n

I studied the method of how I should tend
\n this Seed that It flower up strong,
\n but words which caused trouble from authors who taught
\n declared the world methods as wrong!<\/p>\n

Too hard, their instruction.\u00a0 The price was too high.
\n My world was the cost for this Seed
\n so I kept the essence my world would provide.
\n For flowers I would just de-weed.<\/p>\n

So I served a master for money legit
\n to maintain the life chose as right.
\n New rented apartment of leased furniture
\n was pleasure of pride in my sight.
\n I gathered the dead weeds (each day there were more<\/em>)
\n and garbaged this trash with much glee.
\n Though new flowers would not in my garden grow
\n enough that I broke the thorns free.<\/p>\n

Then fresh, female garden came into my life
\n (her colour had dazzled me blind)
\n and gentleman reborn respect won her heart.
\n My lonely days long left behind.
\n I worked in the effort to keep her wants met,
\n inspired by the love that she said.
\n Her colourful petals gave pleasure no end.
\n Together we shared home and bed.<\/p>\n

But world took of vengeance that it was forsook,
\n showed how my mate\u2019s colours had ranged:
\n I came from work early to find her abed
\n \u2026her weed flowers with a man strange!<\/p>\n

…
\n…<\/p>\n

I left, shocked to silence by justice so clear.
\n My thistled past had done the same
\n for I also strangered \u2018gainst woman and\u00a0child
\n who, for a time carried my name.<\/p>\n

I mourned to a tavern and gave scrutiny
\n of gardening done up to now.
\n The thorns were depleted but nothing new grew;
\n just empty, void garden to plough.<\/p>\n

Thoughts turned to Seed Special spoke by aged friend,
\n the only One needful of care.
\n Botanical studies confirmed this Plant would
\n replenish my garden so bare.
\n But they stayed thoughts only when price was recalled:
\n I must give up all that I knew.
\n My worldly possessions would all come to naught.
\n Such things I did not wish to do.<\/p>\n

As such, with a bottle I flooded my pain
\n to cloud my dilemma of mind.
\n (there must be an option to that Special Seed!)
\n Resolved: a new option I\u2019d find.<\/p>\n

Success I then toasted, assured of my quest
\n that bouquets my garden would see.
\n I toasted for ten days all things come to mind,
\n my garden no longer weed free.
\n My job had not waited, nor landlord for rent,
\n unmindful of my plan for luck.
\n The payments, extended on what I called mine
\n were ended by men and a truck.<\/p>\n

Committed to wander, determined to flee.
\n Let distance de-torment my mind!
\n But I travelled world lanes from which no escape.
\n Weed gardens unsought would I find.<\/p>\n

Resigned invitations had bid them to stay,
\n these gardens which saw certain fall,
\n for flesh and blood people who\u2019s gardens saw death
\n were better than no one at all.<\/p>\n

World had no forgiveness that I sought to leave
\n (it took all my travesty gains<\/em>).
\n Poetic, the justice, my destitute fall
\n reward for my causing past pains.
\n My colourless garden spilled over with weeds
\n beyond any man to repair.
\n My plough could not break through.\u00a0 My shovel was naught.
\n Foolhardy should I even dare.<\/p>\n

Accepted as destined that they would remain
\n I settled to course what I could.
\n The world stood the victor in conquest of I.
\n It made me obey as I should.<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

Nine<\/span><\/h5>\n

By illegal practice my treasures increased,
\n but not with agreement of mine.
\n I would not bloom petals on my roaming weeds
\n when action void feeling worked fine.
\n I dealt marijuana, but not in hard drugs.
\n I forced the debts only of men.
\n Although world had bested I stated my terms,
\n disgusted to be back again!<\/p>\n

My distorted values were my alibi:
\n excuses by distaste felt strong.
\n My profits of blindness would not face the truth:
\n distaste made my sins no less wrong.<\/p>\n

I prospered abundantly of world delights
\n although I felt numb to the gain,
\n and did as the world bid for it was the game.
\n To garden were efforts in vain.
\n I pondered Seed Special, the freedom It vowed
\n from weeds while good flowers replaced.
\n Then I weighed the chances should Special Seed fail.
\n Alone, the world\u2019s wrath I would face.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d tasted the beating the world could inflict
\n and scars recalled memories \u2013 sharp!
\n Too painful, resuffered.\u00a0 The odds were too high
\n to try and trade world for a harp.<\/p>\n

…<\/p>\n

Continued in mundane, my uninspired life.
\n Each day dull resemblance of last.
\n As bland as my garden of brown and green thorn.
\n No feelings for future or past.<\/p>\n

So I was unmoved by her garden like mine,
\n dispassioned at hearing her name
\n until the time passing revealed a new hope:
\n our freedom desires were the same!<\/p>\n

Electric renewal had entered my limbs
\n to put into my step a spring.
\n I found of another who wished same as I
\n that good songs our gardens might sing.
\n Though scars from past lessons and pessimists\u2019 eyes
\n made slow our progression to trust,
\n our common objective \u2013 to battle the world \u2013
\n made joining our forces a must.<\/p>\n

Objective: adopted!\u00a0 Enacted: our plan!
\n We played nonchalant while world reigned,
\n completing its rulings in defeated stance,
\n our aims hid \u2018neath loyalty feigned.<\/p>\n

Unnoticed existence, compliance our screen,
\n anonymous subject put on.
\n Conforming to standards made movements unwatched
\n and we were there \u2026 then we were gone!<\/p>\n

Sweet laughter of freedom in packed, moving car,
\n our road stake in hand adding bliss
\n and as wont to happen from elation shared,
\n our aims were confirmed in a kiss.<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

Ten<\/span><\/h5>\n

We rented a home in a small, gentle town
\n as base for the life that we sought.
\n Avoidance of world snares meant assets were few
\n but what we had was fully bought.
\n We settled employment to maintain our lives
\n (our jobs did not, vanity, stroke<\/em>).
\n Though weeds were our gardens they ceased to expand,
\n no longer to twist and to choke.<\/p>\n

First taste of contentment since we were just kids
\n made raising of walls \u2018gainst our past,
\n but then we discovered the world was within.
\n Our blood burned return to the fast.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have not enough things.\u00a0 Our pace is a bore.\u201d
\n I had to agree what she said.
\n \u201cIndeed something\u2019s missing.\u201d I returned her thought,
\n \u201cLife should be more than home and bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I mentioned Seed Special (familiar to her
\n for she also read Botany<\/em>),
\n yet we sought to laughter, in home entertained.
\n Seed Special would end the carefree.
\n Refusing world methods had staunched our weeds\u2019 flow
\n and bettered the taste of our gain.
\n To nurture the Seed might make our meals gourmet
\n but patience to wait was our bane.<\/p>\n

\u201cOur battleground gardens where we waged our fight,
\n a glorious struggle we saw.
\n The world has its methods, but we hold to ours
\n and I\u2019m satisfied with a draw.\u201d<\/p>\n

My words she concurred with, \u201cOur efforts were great
\n and side by side we are quite strong.
\n We now hold the reins for the course of our lives.
\n We choose what is right and what\u2019s wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

We counselled to prosper of honest earned goods,
\n then laboured to increase our wares,
\n a focused pursuit for what we had agreed
\n till owning of such eased our cares.
\n This form of cohesion united our hearts
\n and two saw a household arise.
\n Our mutual rule shared a heightened respect.
\n Esteem preferred truth over lies.<\/p>\n

In labouring honest, compassion and care
\n had whispered like smoke in our hearts.
\n Then love followed gently (we could not say when)
\n to make up a whole from two parts.<\/p>\n

Well fed was the fullness, what more did we need?
\n Assumed that behind was the worst.
\n But love grown between us saw Seed Special sprout!
\n Foreshadowed: our bubble would burst.
\n We awed at the presence of this Special Seed.
\n So small, yet we witnessed Its might:
\n The thorns had recoiled!\u00a0 drawn back from this Sprout!
\n Reflected in weeds was our fright.<\/p>\n

<< Part 1<\/a>\u00a0 |\u00a0 Part 3 >><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

6 – 7\u00a0 – 8 – 9 – 10 Six The raged celebration of sorrowful gain (returned to embrace my world needs) was pretended laughter \u2018mid gardens dry, too. We blasphemed the One with good seeds. Yet, every morning apparent my shame. Unable was I to till ground. Engrossed in the hiding, my weakness unfaced, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[51],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-101","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-the-garden","7":"entry","8":"override"},"acf":[],"featured_image_src":null,"featured_image_src_square":null,"author_info":{"display_name":"Master of the House","author_link":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/author\/master-of-the-house\/"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/101","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=101"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/101\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=101"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=101"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/masterofthehouse.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=101"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}