Beyond the Garden Door

There in the garden of my dreams beyond the wooden door; so close and yet so far it seems; as if upon a distant shore. I can not help but look inside at what I've left behind. It's where my broken dreams have died and where new hope I find. When all things lay upon my soul back to this door I roam. In gardens of my mind I'm whole it's where I feel at home. When I've lost reasons to care; the garden reminds me. Within each blossom; somethings there to wake the dreams in me. Although the door must at times close hope lingers in my mind; I might not see the garen rose but it's not left behind... The simple, silent solitude allows my heart to think. Such serene strength it can exude whenever I might sink. So, there beyond the garden door I leave my tears and pain; my future still yet stands before and I can take the rain. Naught grows behind the garden door if not a tear may shed. I would be lost forevermore if all my dreams fell dead.