Garden Of The Dragon
The old Dragon gate, tempered green by age, half opens upon flowered gardens of past delights. Long neglected by the gardener's hands, it now blossoms forth with a symmetry
of its own design.
The amorphous flowing of living colors covers once clear borders, cascading over the sides of a stagnate green garden pool.
Marble, stone and metal sculptures now serve as homes for calling birds and much simpler life; vines caress their once smooth features.
Morning light meanders across garden beds, creating streamlets of flowing light. Where formal pathways once were laid out, naturalness and spirit now have free reign.
The gods of War have finished their games. Now Nature re-claims the crumbling remains. One sole spot remains strangely unchanged.
The Dragon of War there still holds its pose untarnished, a world torn in two clasped in each claw. Deep ruby eyes till emit an eerie glow; an inner malignancy lingers still, a mute mockery to the folly of us all.
Copyright by Gene McParland. Not to be reprinted for sale of any sort without permission of the author.