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.
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