I stand upon the threshold to my secret place
Where reality is nothing but a remembered dream
Try as I might to recall the lines of your face
I can only stand, head in hands and silently scream
I look towards the horizon as dusk creeps in,
And see threads of my life slowly drift away.
To live a life entirely based around lust and sin,
Is a sure fire way, that in my garden I will stay.
The punishment handed down for my unatoned strife,
Is to view the changing seasons from the mountain tall.
No amount of heroic poetry can renew my disgraced life,
As I must stay now and forever, a statue in the Garden of fall
© Copyright 2016 Ian Dawn. All rights reserved.