The Garden Of Unrequited Dreams

The evening fell softly on the garden of unrequited dreams.

As the whippoorwill of yesterdays sorrows

sang forth his dirge from the side of a gentle and calling stream.

The pungent scent of decay crawled meekly

onto the tiny drops of fallen dew,

Giving forth nourishment to the seeds of eternity

Which lay planted deep within me and you.

For it is in this garden of unrequited dreams,

Those mysteries of life unravel at the seams.

Bluebells now bow before the whispering wind

As jasmine climbs an invisible trellis, which has no end.

Oh now of this garden wrapped in the cloak of night,

With its come hither the vestige

of all that is wrong about seeming right.

For this garden, it in its Silent foray

Has shed the unkind truth

that is the epitome of the ending day.

For in the garden of unrequited dreams

One will, at long last understand

What has remained hidden in the heart

Of the ever the fearful and dying man.

J. Allen Wilson © 2005

 www.jallenwilson.com