My garden; my soul

 I see a garden in front of me, what is this garden, what do I seek? 

Is it mine, yes, I feel familiarity. 

Why does it look unmanaged, unkept; not dying, just not really alive either. 

I walk the long rows where blooms should be, To find nothing but soil starting back at me. 

It’s ready, it’s willing, it knows what to do, a seed has been planted, but the toiling is due. 

I keep walking this garden, my garden, my soul;

I tear up as i walk wondering why I’ve abandoned it so. 

It’s been through a storm, I see the remnants around; 

It’s not as messy as it once was.

But oh this storm was a fright, it came unexpected in the night. 

It raced through my garden like a tornado with a plan, 

Uprooting foundations now sifting through my fingers like sand. 

I walk, and walk, and walk. 

I cry, I mourn, I question why. 

But then, I see it. 

In the middle, so tiny, but glowing like the brightest light amongst the death of many. 

A lotus, my lotus. 

It grows; I kneel. Thank you. 

I pick up the garden hoe and look around; 

This will take time but you’ve given me ground. 

I will love you again, I will care for you anew.

This garden, my garden, will be a vision of what I grew.