Beyond the gardens of my heart
through the green valleys of life
lie the shadowlands
mercilessly calling to me
day after endless day
to view with bruised spirit
countless tears on saturated grasses 
sheltering scattered seeds of hope
that without the light
and warmth can not grow
yet staunchly remain in abeyance
nourished only by my never-ending love
dwelling dormant in yesterday
but compelling in their power
to evoke the memories
grim testaments of the reality
that the dream will never die
and may with the coming of
a new sun bloom again
while I am relegated to
one without the power to resist
and must return again and again
to the shadowlands of
what we could be.

©Marcia Miller-Twiford