Garden of Poetry

I am content with earthly enterprise,
But I look e’er to the opposing shore,
In hope that eternity may arise
Per my expectations of something more.

Beneath your eye of gold,
You let our hearts grow cold.
You’ve never told us why.

Late night, when stars twinkle remotely,
Like dandelion parachutes floating across eternity,
I think, possibly, that somewhere out there,
A boy has been blowing dandelions into the air.

He poured forth from his earnest throat,
A verse much out of key.
But when he hit the proper note,
It was as good as song can be

When someday through Elysium I ride,
High upon a steed ethereal bred,
Shall I sheathe the very world at my side,
And wear a crown of sun upon my head?
Shall I bask in honor, glory, and grace,
Finding reality more than I dream,
Finding at last that for which all souls yearn?
To my proper place!
Lead on, usher of the eternal plan!
I am obliged to follow in my turn.

Toadstool,
Treacherous thy rule
Of feeding and deeding
Thy poisonous function,
Void of compunction!