The Fate Of An Oleander Garden

Stand down, here’s a shot of whiskey.
Don’t go treading into the mud like that.
Heart’s weary, restless and wanting,
Every other thing except what it has.

One wakes and prays for gold, crumb and cake
Forgetting of the bread he chooses now
And how to another that choice is null
Your crumb, his cake and the next, his gold.

It’s fair what you have and fair too what you don’t
There’s no one special thing life owes you
For life’s a collection of oleander gardens
Spread out here and there, what beauty earth is.

If you despair for lost riches
Or for the pot of gold you think to have missed
And along you’re carried on the stream of grief,
If at all you envy your friend,
Conform to the majority,
Or break your bark to please
A crowd in constant unease,
If you whine then wine
And sink into the belly
Of the ocean of the vain,
Then you my friend,
Will have burnt your gardens of oleanders!

If however, what you lose and what you gain change you not,
And how high you aim does not block your cloud of thought,
If you feel joy when a friend settles his bills
As you suffocate further in debt,
If you listen more than you speak
Having to carry storms in your chest
When the neighbors and friends speak I’ll of thee,
And rejoice still for bearing witness
To another day, presently,
And wine and dine and bulge thy belly
With the stories of the vastness of life
And speak greatly of love,
And the solitude of a human’s own mind, That uncultivated land,
Cursing none and blessing the man in the mirror
As the man above does bless thee,
Then you, my friend,
Will not know where to take the Oleanders sprouted in excess.


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