There's a smile lost across the gloss-
Of a most weary, teary eye.
And there's a dream beneath the gleam-
Unseen, unsought, aching to fly.
A child, dear child, somewhere searching-
For the understanding of the wise.
Easily mistaken and forsaken-
In a world of vast and ghastly lies.
A soul yearning, bleeding, burning,
Blinded by its own innocence;
Wanders and strays, dies and decays-
In the garden of decadence.
Where blossoms bloom beneath the gloom-
Of a loomy, lazy willow that whines.
Where the water stills, and the cold wind chills,
And no one's ever really seen the sun shine.
For shadows play throughout the day-
Just to wither away the hour.
As the worst and best die on the quest-
For the touch of a mystical flower.
And the night sky glows just beyond rows-
Of luminous flowers, a thousandfold.
But we dare not speak of that which we seek,
Lest Death come to us in Seclusion's hold.
Is there a spark deep in the dark-
That can only be seen by the blind?
Is the only sense to creed and credence-
The creation of a sterile mind?
Are the dreams we relish and embellish-
Just pasifications of our impotence?
Is the desire to love, and to be loved-
Sanctification of self-indifference?
For in the garden, begging of pardon,
Carefully avoiding all eye contact.
We pass in hurry and wretched worry-
Of what we might miss should we interact.
Searching for the rose, Fate's to disclose
Never once looking to the sky, above.
Oh, will disenchanted eyes ever realize-
A rose is but a symbol, God is love.