His own aghast
Out of Paradise’s bliss
In Sorrow’s midst
Down to the ground
He cast his eyes
Their footmarks bring.
The memories draw.
On their footmarks
The teardrops drop.
Things will ne’er be the same
In that garden where you walked alone
Seeking your own.
Against the grayness of a painter’s hue
The lunar sickle seems to comfort you.
No crickets chirping, birds asleep
Your friends lying, none astir
Even the bats are nowhere to be seen
In this still, friendless and lonely night
Where all is quiet and calm
‘Cept for the riotous thumping of
Your troubled heart.
Silvery tears in thine eyes rise
As you knelt in somberness
In a garden’s solitude
Praying for your own.
The heavens: a flowing flame
The clouds: massive black billows
Across the firmament, lightening flashes streak;
For the ground, they desperately reach
Earth quaking claps of thunder
Like amplified roars of a 100 billion lions
Echoing each syllable of that awful cry
From the heart of a tormented soul.
And soon after it has dried
The silvery tears in thine eyes,
Where none ever has been laid
You lay alone in a garden’s tomb
After dying for your own.
In a garden you walked alone, seeking your love;
In a garden you knelt alone, praying for your love;
In a garden you lay alone after dying for your love;
And someday soon to come
In a beautiful garden city
You will rejoice, hardly alone
Forever with your love.
© KC Samm