Second version of this story, made with the prompt "The flowers from this garden are the most precious commodities in the realm… for a very good reason", but this time I wanted to do something "experimental", I'm still practicing how to tell a story trough verses, but I have to admit that this is more a description of a situation/theme than a story per se... but it is a step forward.
Like memories from enchanted lands
born from dreams and for dreaming
in this soil a hoard of lights is born
dressed in silk and velvet
it is told by moonlit voices
both in mumbles and sights
that this garden bleeds
when night withers trust
because every desire is clouded
by a soft caress of gleaming mist
born from dreams and for dreaming
and dressed in moonlit trust
you don’t see beyond beauty
but you feel the thorns
injecting doubt and fear
with every tumbling shadow
and it is already too late
when the hoard of lights
swallows space and being
making from you new velvet and silk
Que profunda.
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