Interior Gardening
As I close my eyes
In a Spring-laced garden,
It becomes more than its mere
Physical components:
Like a swarm of newly-emerged bees,
It drives itself toward
The senses of my body.
My inner self responds to this
Unexpected attack
From the supposedly pleasant outdoors.
A growth of vines,
Stemming from the blossom of confidence
Budding in my head,
Shoots down the nerves
And through my chest.
A spinal tingling,
The reverberations of this
Initial battle,
Follow with what seems like haste;
But time has lost
Much of the meaning it possessed in
The outdoor sensory world.
Water seeping through to the feet,
From the dewy grass,
Turns from a refreshing coolant,
To a fuel
For the oncoming rage.
Yellows, pinks and greens
Merge to a fiery red
Beneath the eyelids.
Seeing red has become
The reality:
It is no longer metaphorical-
As the war gets underway.
