Silent Garden

Alana Staszczyszyn

 

Presented are such mournful days and hours:

 

once fruitful gardens worn to emptiness,

 

where passion once did bloom and boldly flow’r,

 

grown stale and lost to memories of bliss.

 

Solution once to problems gone amiss,

 

where music had perfomed the Saviour’s task:

 

evade the miseries, flee from Death’s kiss,

 

for better cure was never needed ask.

 

Left unprotected without guise or mask;

 

association: music to my pains,

 

for anger, frustration are sole attached

 

to forces nurturing which kept me sane.

 

I suffer now in endless acres bleak

 

for elsewhere must my passion look to seek.