Enigma Of The Gardens Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

A garden that
Oozes and bursts with tepid perspiration
I am caged behind
The tall, serrated grasses
That tower over my physique
In the surfeit acrimony of these lavish gardens.

The stones, the pebbles
That tremulously sit
As the Earth slithers beneath the roots
Of where I am cultivated,
Are oblivious of their names -
I am the insignia that flares
With a panache -
Only to see myself
Buried in a riotous dream.

The cicadas are in a cacophonous persuasion
As the flakes of the Sun simmer in dissipation.
Caged forever, caged ephemerally
I joust with the figures of these cruel wardens
As they tell me, I am the enigma of the gardens.
Arid fields that sprightly sway
To the autumnal sigh of May
They sing the requiem of the enigma
The riddle of the gardens,
In this garden of flustered conundrums.

The tigers lunge
And the cold zenith plunges
Inward - the penetrable skin of this garden
With cold feet on the grass,
Two arms that flail toward the impasse,
The rains have rendered the tapestry sunken
I am buoyant, the enigma of the gardens.