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Stories
Saturday, December 11, 2010
11:00 PM
The Garden
I see the garden, the garden filled with roses
And it's quiet, peaceful; softly silent.
The light wind gently kissing my face,
Carrying the sweet smell of the flowers.
Brilliant colours all around; The vivid image
Painted clear in the bright gold sunlight.
It is all around me, exuding it's sweet fragrance,
Filling the air with that distinct flavour.
Deep, dark pitch clouds over: It's black,
Deathly black. Everything dies, fades
Before my very eyes. I stand facing nothingness,
Pure emptiness. It's still silent.
I saw the garden, the garden filled with roses
And it was quiet, peaceful; softly silent.
Now all that remains is a soothing blank,
A void that who knows, may be filled again.
