The Kings Garden

Monet's Garden Giverny

There was once a castle upon a cloudy chamber,
Within it lived a Maiden attended by a Gate Keeper,
This Maid was both darkness and light her in nature,
For she possessed a lover’s temper – pro and opposing her.

Her kingdom was furnished upon just one thought,
For the Keeper had told her of an allotment – the King had bought…

“…Our King’s garden flaunts feral and fertile fruits,
That burst with ambrosia from  bosom and boon.
This emerald green surrounded by a tall fence of thorny rose-bush,
Lies protected behind a great gate against any raid or ambush.”

And its privacy was guarded by only one man’s vigilance,
Who betrayed the King’s secret’s to this curious mistress,
Poor love – she could not sleep within such a distance,
Lay awake in bed dreaming of this garden’s magnificence.

Artist's Garden Giverny  III

The King knew all about – yet so much he did endure,
Some may ask – how much of this does he enjoy,
To keep this slave and mistress locked up in ignorance,
For who can ever question His Majesty’s intentions,
(Nor can you contradict a true King’s divine intervention).

And thus – our King set the date for his entertainment,
For the time had come to test the faith of his maid and servant…

* * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *

He bid the night to sky and the moon spread a sheet of diamonds,
He blew a mighty magic breath of atmospheric  ambiance,
And on that special night, the alluring scent of His musky incense,
Oh how He drew the hour nearer of madness, lust and incest.

The castle shook from its cranny to nook,
In an ecstatic way of violence…

The Keeper rose ablaze – as if in flames,
Grasping the key to unlock the garden gates,

But she was swift – she did persist
Like lightning rudely wide awake,
She ran and took a stand in the doorway,
Before he could escape.

 “Away be woman, lest your inhibitions do depart,
Avaunt – you wretched wench, the time has come for us to part. ”

“No Sir, the time has come for us to make this moment last,
For truth could transpire this treason,
If you would listen to your secret heart.”

He sang, “My dear, my heart, my life are both inanimate,
A picture of unreason painted by this love and hate,
It be His will –  my destiny hangs at those garden gates.”

“Then you should have thought of that, before His secret’s you betrayed.”

He begged her, “This is not the way to do things…

Please be gone… now go away.
Your place is in this castle and it is here that you must stay,
The moment I had tasted wine I’d forgotten what was right,
By divulging the secret of His garden – I wronged not twice, but thrice.”

monet.wl-green

At this the poor child became overwhelmed with tears,
“Here I stand before you I have abandoned all my fears,
Sat within this castle – listened to your fairy tales – for over twenty years,
Now how do I betray myself?
– No, I betray nothing but my pride,
Nor do I beg your pardon sir,
For love to come in this disguise.
The only sin I have commit is my faith in you,
(who sold me cheap)
But my hope in you makes me stronger than you in your disbelief,
And now you wish to leave me here to turn into a heap of dust?
Oh how I wish I was nothing but a dusty rug,
For I’d rather choose to lay down at your feet and die,
Than to never hear an empty promise or another one of your lies,
Of how you’d take me to this garden to see with mine own eyes,
All of the King’s wonder that he has made you hide,
But now the time has finally come, why do you despise?
And ask all of my desire to go against my desires rise?
How dare you begin to question what is wrong and what is right,
I demand you Gate Keeper, take me to the Garden with you tonight.”

Upon hearing this, the Keeper ceased to think another thought,
Her words of love made him forget his prevailing master’s wrath,
“The King is dead; long live the King for I cannot begin to ponder,
Your words make me forget the fear and furiousness of thunder,
Your greed, your lust, your passion are my tender nourishment,
Woman, you’ll be the death of me,
My prize and punishment.
Don’t sell yourself less than your worth –  neither gold nor iron rust,
You are the ash remaining from this log that burnt till dusk.
The King told me, I am the seed of Adam and Eve’s love,
He told me that I was created from a smidgen of Himself,
Then why must I be torn between my reason and my lust?
How can I know the truth – that may be love – that which you trust?
Come what may, come with me you Wench,
To the garden we both must rush…”

And after these powerful words of truth had been spoken,
It seemed as though a potent spell had been broken,
As he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the castle doors,
An adrenalin evoked and enticed them with much force,
It was as though their fears had escaped and eloped,
So they began to run through private gullies and public roads,
Yes, they both ran barefoot and were only partially robed,
Wrapped in rapture for the scent of His Gardens Rose.

The moon shone upon the Keeper’s fine features as his eyes flashed,
The wild wind rushed through the dark tresses of his fair lass,
As our bonny child kept up beside her beaux who ran so fast,
With heels so swift that swam through air like sailors masts…

monet-poppies

They blistered through the forests like a swarm of bees,
Bedraggling  fields of wildflowers with their scarlet poppies,
But curiously the King’s garden was nowhere to be seen,
And who is to blame if they could not sustain their energy?
For no woman nor man can remain in such blissful rhapsody,
Having pursed His gate for so long and with such curious ecstasy,
They had run and run until they had run out of hope eventually.

Alas, in such a state of frenzy and in such circumstance as these,
They finally lost their breath were overcome with guilt and grief,
They’d gone astray and found the shores of despondent disbelief,
Had reached a halt at despair’s pier but still there came no release.
For they could not believe themselves nor could they have conceived,
More plausible it seems sometimes to drown in self deceit…

And thus the waves of woe snatched them and drew them in at length,
Until they could not comprehend themselves nor this oceanic depth,
That seemed to burst forth from their hearts and out from within their breasts,
They drifted further far apart and deeper into a desolate mess.

camille-on-her-deathbed-monet

And as they sank deeper into what seemed to be their watery death,
She began her plea – To He whom brings us to our knees at best;
“Too the One that engulfs me here in this restless place,
For foolishly following this man’s whim and fancying his grace,
I now surrender unto your path and I swear by my lover’s name,
Truly it has been fidelity that has led us to this grief and pain,
But it is the King that leads the day to night and ends the night with day.
For I am still with my desire for love and a glimpse of my Lovers face,
So reveal my love to me why have you forsaken me this way?”

And as she plead her prayers transmit as they had been received,
The keeper in his private lock was struck by hope and fell at ease,
He found the strength to judge that he maybe drenched in love,
And so he cried out to down below and he called to up above,
“Oh my Beloved, never mind the distance or the time we’ve spent apart,
For I’ve longed you since your absence – though you live in mine own heart.”

And so they took it upon themselves to search within this boggy space,
For a glimpse of phosphorescence or a glint of phosphorous glaze,
Yes, it was the King, to whom they sang their songs of praise,
For it was He, who’d bought them to where lovers go insane,
For here it is where he intends to keep them immersed in faith,
For surely He is the expanding sea of all who are His hopeful slaves.

 

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