Posted in Poems


I walked alone

down the winding

of the xyst,

where youthful flowers

bloomed all around me

and vines tangled overhead.

I sat on a stone bench

in the centre of a secret-filled garden

and I wept for all of my mistakes,

all of the things I knew I did wrong.

Where was the healing in it all?

This world still left with gashes,

wounds that I don’t know how to heal.


I still see them all dying

in front of my eyes

and I never did a thing to help.


I suppose it will heal over in time.

Something will grow out of this,

I mused,

walking back up the winding xyst.

The smell of lilacs from a nearby bush overwhelming

I knew then that

from the ashes

will rises fragrant petals of promise

for a future of love and renewal.


-Eva M.M.

Because it is a peculiar word:  * Xyst- a garden walk planted with trees

I clearly took a little bit of liberty in making it sound more like a magical, enchanted, secret garden, hen just a path planted with trees.

Thank you as always for reading and sharing your thoughts with me below.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”




I am the author of and am currently working on a book of poems. To find out more check out my about me page as well as my page about my blog and welcome to the ink angels community.

2 thoughts on “Xyst

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