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Bitter Garden by Lelia Thomas

Fireflies dance in dim silver skies,
Casting light on shadowed fields of lavender.
And off in the distance, a lone sparrow cries,
Its song touching the soul.

And down the endless paths, where vines grow and weeping willows twist,
There lies a gold-tinged lake.
And there above it, like a veil, rise the clouds of mist—
Gentle reminders that upon the lake reflections are lost.

Weave patterned steps, admiring the thick iron gates.
Such craftsmanship that they are all equal and perfect in size and shape.
At these ominous, thick bars no visitor dare waits.
It is in this place—this bitter garden of dreams—that you take cold shelter.

Here, beyond pearl-capped mountains, where wilting, grey roses are planted,
The thorns stick so painfully in the memory,
Where those faded and forgotten secrets of both love and death are chanted—
A mantra of guilt, of life, and the future; your own sanctuary.

None shall pass through these gates again.
So thoroughly you have checked their golden latches and locks.
None shall touch this inmost garden to bring you pain–
This garden with the black heart of a standing stone.

So gentle birds may sing their songs of sweeter times,
When hearts knew how to love and trust.
But those thorns haven’t let you forget that lover’s crimes.
For love, you lost your reflection in the golden lake.

Wind-chafed winter shall never break your bones.
Your strength will come from this otherworldly garden, your inmost thoughts.
You’ll forget love and trust’s tilted moss-covered headstones—
All this for yourself, for your bitter garden of safety.

The fireflies dance in dim silver skies,
Shedding a fading light across the grey roses—
Love’s last light to tired, old eyes.
But here—in this bitter garden of dreams—there will be no lies.

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Written in 2003. Bad things happen to good and bad people. At times, the result of that is to withdraw from society, to lock oneself away into the world of one’s mind.