Concrete Gardens |
by Chrystal Berche

Tonight, the sky is an electric highway of war gods
Quaking in a jagged loop of endless dreams
The reaper spins its heels at an all night dinner
Sipping coffee and 151 from chipped porcelain mugs
The essence of watered down memories
There’s no one left here to mourn the sun
The gypsies all dance in concrete gardens
Celebrating the fall of Eden and the death of spring
Wild roses burned in neon righteousness
Jabbing their thorns into frozen flames
All flickers of warmth stolen by the dying sun
Red is the color of brake fluid in snow
The long shadows creeping through broken windows
Devour what the kudzu failed to claim
Wood creeks, the echo of rockers in an empty room
A stark reminder of a massacred past
A kaleidoscope of disconnected edges
This ever changing nightmare of platitudes and regrets
The sky cries icy tears across the faces of rainbows
Their technicolor frowns inspire Midas dreams
Ocean and heavens meld into disharmonious blue
Bear witness to tumultuous sunsets
Only immortals are blessed with eternity
Endless opportunities to erase their sins

Chrystal writes. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggled, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other things she knows and loves. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing she’s taking pictures, or curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.