The Painted Garden | Teen Ink

The Painted Garden MAG

April 6, 2017
By danaccab PLATINUM, Amissville, Virginia
danaccab PLATINUM, Amissville, Virginia
20 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The beginning of purpose is found in creating something that only you understand." -Tyler Joseph


Thick, gray clouds painted themselves
Over the cerulean blue sky,
Dragging cold, graceful shadows
Across the once vibrant land
In confident brush strokes.
Willow branches empty of leaves fall limp,
Dripping like watery paint
Onto the arched bridge,
Its alabaster planks streaked
A deep, foreboding hue.
Beloved water lilies succumb,
Icy water contaminating and
Drowning pale pink petals,
Their verdant pads receding into frigid,
Somber depths of muddled oil paints.
Wind whistles through vacant limbs,
Lifting stubborn leaves and powdered snow,
As sturdy trunks creak like old easels
And ripples whisper on the pond’s surface,
A solemn sound traveling undisturbed.
Tall grasses bow under icy blankets,
Falling in rounded mounds like unused paint
Against resting trees with rough bark,
Surrounding an empty clearing of fresh dirt
Like admirers of a work of art.
Weak rays of gold delicately
Accent the dull ground with a gentle hand,
The contrast drawing the eye
To look upon the artist’s resting place,
Alight with a dazzling, pearlescent sheen.


The author's comments:

Sounds odd, but this was inspired by Claude Monet's death, which I wanted to capture from the viewpoint of his beloved garden. 


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This article has 3 comments.


i love this !

This is great. Excellent. I love it.

on Apr. 8 2017 at 9:59 am
HereSheIs BRONZE, Wellesley, Massachusetts
3 articles 0 photos 187 comments

Favorite Quote:
"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." -Plato

Wow, this is an amazing way to portray Monet's death — your descriptions of the dying garden are rich and beautiful, and you masterfully weave in comparisons to a painting all the way through. Anyone can feel the sadness of this poem.