Blood Garden
Daily poetry
The edge drinks from the fountain as a branch is severed from the tree.
One by one, I trim the hedges with my loyal Damascus.
Their nutrients rain upon the fields, nourishing the soil.
A grind and a clink of the sheath to conclude my work –
so I may sit and meditate
upon the field I’ve grown.
Yeah, you kind of nailed the flat vibe. Good job.
Love it! The cover art really complements the poem too