My Pain Is a Garden

My pain is a garden. 4ft wide. One part tears. Swell up inside. Self abuse is ignorance's drought. Till my stomach til I want to shout. Wind squeezed out of my tightened chest. Feeds the need for begotten rest. Anguish is a shovel strike In the morning's rise or mid of night. Pain passes on it's own accord. Like darkness's clouds gone after storm. I rise again and get back to work. Ploughing soul on God's green Earth.