MICHAEL DAVID COFFEY
'The Garden'

It's quiet now, silent, still
As though the earth stopped
   to consider
The future, the past
The best course of action

The garden is full, replete
The orange flowers on the vine
   a wreath to love
The passion pink bougainvillea
   a reflection of the sun
Now hidden

The sky is thick with moisture
Heavy, hanging in silence
A faint sound of youthful
   chirping
But mostly deathly silence

I can hear a hammer
   working methodically
The imagery of an early
   dawn preparation
A coffin perhaps, made
   for a victim of life's
   misdirection

The slow pitter patter of
   droplets, off the roof
The faint birdsong, the
   hammer
But all else is silent, heavy
Mourning the thwarted,
   tortured path of existence