Poetry; swirling thoughts and complexities

A Truthful Garden 🝮

Rustling of leaves and stalks as the ever silent wind carries itself along the polished-pebble path of a garden. A secret garden bordered by mossy brick and lichen. As the moonlight casts a blaring silver on beautifully shaped stones and statues, the screeching, cooing, and flurry of residing birds guides his way further into the sanctuary. A soft and dear place to pray, to think, and to fall, all without consequence of presence.

Fingertips gingerly touching each beautiful flower with adoration, for each seemed so perfect. Perhaps they weren't perfect, but so greatly beautiful nonetheless. They proudly sprout along nearly every inch of the garden aside from the pathway and occasional island of green grass. A hexagonal dome of secretive life which has always been kept hidden. Full of life, and loneliness, this garden blooms full of beauty and thorns.
A place to hide, to reveal only to himself; what fatefully lies beneath the mask of gold. And beneath that mask of glee and gifting, lies a very broken boy. The ruined part of his soul which he may never show;
only for the sake of his love.
He tugs it free, watches as it mocks him between thorn-torn palms. The smiling mask, which all recognise.

Alone in this silence, the caressing of the soft breeze glides along his kneeling form, over his stubble-lined jaw and cooling over his light cascade of tears. It urges his thoughts, reminds him of his truth. A pale midnight tinted flower sways half-blossomed in front of him; and it was that simple, imperfect flower which illustrated memories of her baby blue silk gown, or perhaps her hairpins which she likes to wear. And worst of all, her soft cyan eyes which carried the sincerest of innocence. And it was for her that he can pretend like he is strong when he is hurt. For her he could cruelly lie just to protect her, even if it puts him in harms way. If he could, he would gift the whole world to her only to see her smile...only to keep her distracted from his undesirable weakness.

The boy feels deep guilt, of course, that he holds such a precious flower that he does not deserve. He has deceived her. And that in itself is tearing him apart. If he gets too close, will she discover his flaw? Will his perfect angel fly away and be hurt? The flower of their promised love falls apart and dies.
Guiding his gaze to the stars above, he reads for an answer to this strife. May he go on without allowing love in order to still see her, but for her to love another? Perhaps he can see for how long the mask remains, to go and see her and make her his. Or to reveal himself- the monster he is, her fleeing to become consequence of such? Whichever path he walks, there is no true happiness, there is no true love.
And the stars smiling back at him reached down to whisper,

"The truth untold is such tragedy of longing, albeit growth within. A beautiful soul holds greater value over a beautiful flower; for a flower will wilt, and a soul may only prosper. Love intensifies with the absence of possibility, and the sacrifice is inevitable- so for heart's sake; may the moonlight entwine and untwine what is truly meant to be."

The lights of a thousand stars and a single crescent moon brave upon him, the ultra-dark vibrancy of colour the universe bares high above and all around him cradles his heart carefully. Lovely strength fills his weakened palms, and he lowers his view to the garden once more.

And on that particular night a goddess walked the secret path. Her soft and neat form glowed so brightly in the silver light. A young princess of silk and hairpins, of sweetness and deep compassion. And on that same path, their eyes meet with recognition and difference. Just like the stars of the night, she softly watches him kneel before the hundreds of velvety flowers. He watched as she did not flee, she did not fear, and once more he gazed at his mask.

The foolish mask which was now broken.

And his heart had never felt more fulfilled.