Uneasy Unrest

I’m walking into an unnamed garden,

empty as in not

yet awakened,

surrounding a undefined construction,

desolated as in not

yet occupied.

The soils of my

shoes produce a

crunching vibration on

the pebbly pathway.

I feel I’m disrupting the scene.

Walking on my toes will not help.

There is no beauty as in irresistible.

There is no anxiety as in tempting.

A lost leaf covered  

with dewdrops

felt from the tree.

From a rusty drainpipe

flows blood-colored ink.

An invisible hand wipes

the pearls from the sheet

and writes

clearly legible,

uneasy

unrest.

The branches of the tree

are wearing it

while the stones of the building

are sweating it all out 

Uneasy Unrest.

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