"The Garden of Forgotten Dreams"

The Garden of Forgotten Dreams

O mortal soul, why dost thou sigh and grieve,

When every passing star bids thee believe?

Thy sorrow, like the mist, shall melt with morn,

And thou shalt rise anew, though now forlorn.

When first I trod this world of shifting hue,

My heart was pure, my dreams both fresh and true;

Each flower spoke, each brook did sing my name,

The winds themselves did weave my soul with flame.

Yet Time, that silent thief, with subtle art,

Did steal the golden treasures of my heart;

And left me wandering through the barren field,

Where dreams lie broken and no wounds are healed.

Oft did I stand 'neath ancient oaks and cry,

"O wherefore, Hope, dost thou so swiftly fly?"

The heavens, deaf to all my earnest plea,

Did answer not, but wept in rain with me.

Fair Love, thou art a fickle, fleeting breath,

As constant as the tide, as sure as death;

I wooed thee once beneath the harvest moon,

But thou didst vanish with the winter's tune.

In gardens wild, I sought thee far and wide,

Amongst the roses where the spirits bide;

Yet every petal whispered unto me,

"Thy Love is lost beyond the endless sea."

Then came the Night, with all her sable skies,

Who kissed my weary brow and closed mine eyes;

In dreams, she showed me fields that never fade,

Where none grow old, and none need be afraid.

Methought I walked where lilies lined the shore,

Where sorrow dwelt in mortal hearts no more;

And there did I behold, in purest gleam,

The Garden of Forgotten Mortal Dreams.

Each dream, once slain by fear or mortal woe,

Did in that secret Garden bloom and grow;

A boy's lost wish to sail the sapphire seas,

A maid's soft prayer to dance 'neath golden trees.

A mother's hope to hold her babe once more,

A soldier's vow to lay aside his war;

All dreams, reborn, in hues of light and air,

Did blossom bright, beyond despair or care.

I knelt upon the ground, in awe and grace,

As tears of wonder traced upon my face;

For there amidst the throng of living dreams,

Lay mine own hopes, like softly flowing streams.

My lost desires — the songs I dared not sing,

The words unspoken, the crowns I might have been —

All glittered there, unmarred by worldly strife,

A testament to the eternal life.

And lo, a voice — as clear as morning dew —

Did whisper sweet, "The Garden waiteth you.

Though thou hast stumbled, faltered, even bled,

Thy dreams are not as lifeless as thou said."

Arise, dear heart, and gird thyself with light,

For not in grief, but hope, lies truest might;

Though storms may break thy bark and winds be wild,

Within thee still there dwells the fearless child.

I woke, and from that sacred dream was torn,

Yet in my breast, a braver fire was born;

No more would sorrow bind me to the ground,

For dreams once lost in time can yet be found.

Thus now I walk, though shadowed paths I tread,

With lifted chin and soul no longer dead;

The world may wither, ages fall away,

Yet Hope shall ever dance with Break of Day.

O mortal soul, despair thou not thy fate,

Thy dreams await thee at the Garden gate.

Seek them, tend them, love them without fear—

For dreams, once cherished, ever linger near.