• Late night wonderings in a garden of fallen flowers,
    Pondering your circumstance at the midnight hours.
    Touching the cool night air;
    Caressing your face and fingering through your hair.

    Touching what others only dream,
    Though you’re not as perfect as others seem.
    Your heart has been withered by past eclipse.
    Your garden no longer but a corpse.

    Consider not what brought you’re here,
    Just of what you used to bear.
    You have lost the key to open the garden gate,
    The hinges have rusted and the door has begun to disintegrate.

    Leaving you forever locked within your vault,
    Surrounded by the decay you cannot halt.
    Soon even the thorns will be dust; the ground will be barren,
    Your heart never able to grow again.