Watered Garden by Matasha Lee (poetry)

Watered garden

The rain was no match for the tears she cried.
The flooded nights of despair.
Tossing and turning her body as if the tug of war occurred in her sleep,
Defenseless to the act of the mighty hand of anguish and anxiety that crept in every now and then to rob her of her joy.
Weeds, unfruitable to the ground from which her feet bled from the daily miles of trying to find herself again.
Will her tears work?
Could she cry a river that would lead her to the lost treasures of her soul?
Will her love ones so kindly greet her on the other side?
To feel love, oh, how she missed it.
The coolness of the morning with the trickle of dew upon her face to refresh the redness that cluttered her eyes,
She would look out into yesterday and glance at what use to be and listen to the screeching of the chained swing rock back and forth, and see herself laughing and playing,
Free from the cares of the world,
But she knows she can't go back to floral skirts and ruffle socks.
She can't find freedom in what use to be.
She continues in hope that one day her dreams will become of fruition and her life will balance out to fit her new idea of beauty and manifest into the sun beaming a new day in the sky.
She sits by the riverside still eyes filled with tears not knowing that she has created a path to her own promise land.
Cry on my dear.
My ears of compassion hears your weeping song.