within green estates

You’re a garden. You grow others.

You’re a garden. You grow others.
But you won’t admit to that.
You’re a bell, but you’re warm blooded,
peal of kindness, slightly cracked.

Some nights I’m speaking with you,
pillow prophet, whiskey wise.
Some nights the ocean’s in you,
trade fleets tacking in your tides.

You’re each second thought inside me,
a spleen to filter all my sins.
Every scratch from you reminds me
kings need castles to live in.

Every castle needs a garden.
Every garden needs a bell.
Every bell needs a good warden
to keep it ringing well.