Inside the Garden: an acrostic of what comes and tends to go 

The Named had stayed for countless nights,

Hoping through the starry skies that

Even if the sun had set for good,

Yachts of memories would float by.


And through these dedicated days,

Love—longed for years—blossomed,

Waiting for each sacrosanct sunrise to

Assure Garden of this peculiar idea—

Youthfully yearned for in her growing heart,

Slowly ingraining tattoos of pained permanence.


Lacing this masked permanence to her heart

Eagerly, after discarding cultivated hesitance,

After investing stocks of traumatized trust,

Viciously exposed how easily—

Effortlessly—Garden could depend.


Meanwhile, as history would repeat,

Even the Named left under the canopy of leaves.