The Garden

Down the rolling hill I walk,

Compressed in all of time,

To shed a light of love,

That has been hidden in my mind.

I trot across the barren yard,

To the golden gate,

I turn the key and walk inside,

My escape from all my fears and hate.

As the gate behind me locks,

I look around me here,

A soft and tranquil garden,

Where time can not be near.

There is a little building,

In a temple sort of style,

Where I sit and contemplate,

Everything all the while.

Right past the little gazebo,

A river runs its course,

It twists and turns and never stops,

As if by some strong force.

The river seems translucent,

And with my eyes I see,

Everything I could have done,

And all that I could be.

Far off as if a mile away,

I hear a clock bell toll and,

Soon I will leave this place,

For my Cinderella hour is at hand.

Back to my world,

Of thorns and stone,

To my life of pain,

And my heart of ice and snow.