There's moaning in the garden above.
The garden I see, the garden I love.
The garden above the place above me.
The garden atop the Great World Tree.
A Holy place, a place for the divine.
A place that's bright, with a golden shine.
A peaceful place of love and life.
So why do I hear such moans, such strife?
She sits atop the Great World Tree.
The person can't reach, the person is me.
She sits alone, wanting a love.
But she sits to far, much to far above.
I reach and I cry and I scream and ask why.
And all I see and hear is silence and fear.
A fear of no love to share or care for.
A fear of no man or woman to be there for.
This fear, it eats and shreds and rips.
My heart is full of pain, it drips.
It shrivels into a nothing shape.
And thus my chest is left agape.
All I hear is a soft moan.
Her innocence is crying, her voice is a groan.
Maybe one day, we will call each other our own.
It would be our love and life that shown.
But all I see is a garden above.
A garden of dreams, a garden I love.
A garden atop the Great World Tree.
A garden I wish was a garden for me.
· Wed Feb 05, 2014 @ 02:15pm · 0 Comments