The Garden Laid Bare

Their eyes peer through me like glass
Years I’ve wandered from place to solemn place
Born with a shape a different shade from all the rest
Wrought with the sands of a land so foreign
I was grown in a garden, tended by light and shadow
From my sides my arms emerged, withered
The soil carved my legs out, not strong enough to stand
Lastly the shadows fused to my frame
Not even vultures would take me now in need
A creature better left unseen
If they only saw, what would they see?
If they only saw, what would I see?
Would that I could return to my garden womb
To plant my feet, to the soil unsculpted again
And place these arms back in my sides
Let the soil submerge, my bones and skin dispersed, asleep again
I was grown in a garden, tended by light and shadow
From my sides my arms emerged, withered
The soil carved my legs out, not strong enough to stand
Lastly the shadows fused to my skin
Subdued by Gravity, fettered by its weeded hands
The sun has branded its taunting, deep into my scalloped neck
Fastened like a hanging noose, set out to bleed my lungs clean
I’ll be swinging like a rotted tree,
suspended from the vine’s constricting web
Overgrown, my throat caressed by weeds
I grasp for the blades, but find only empty fists
So long unkept, this shriveled land
How long, O tender? Let not these bones rot
'Fore the dawn clothes the Earth