The Garden

The garden so beautiful in itself, Was surely one that never looked the worse. Most beautiful in the world, But it held an evil curse. The story was long ago, Bewitched by all to tell. But in a dark and lonely night, Is when the madness fell. I was just a young lad, Not near the age of nine. But as if it were yesterday, I remember it clear in my mind. I had sat at my mother’s feet, Anxiously waiting for the tale. She warned me not to repeat it, For it would end with one turning pale. She started in a low and tranquilizing voice, Not wanting to be discovered. She leaned toward me, And the tale she began to uncover. “The garden is beautiful, But most dangerous to any schmuck. As to walk among the flowers, Would be of your own bad luck. There was a man once, Who walked so calmly through. But unfortunately for him, He knew not of the evil that grew. If only he would have learned, Maybe his life would be saved. But lonely in the garden, He had not a chance to live another day. As his foot hit the garden, He heard an evil hiss. He looked around seeing no one near, But having a feeling of holy bliss. The hissing continued as he stopped to look, But he could not blench from the garden. He could not feel it creeping around his legs, Crawling up as he stood harden. His heart started thumping, Rapidly getting faster. He was then aware of the evil around him, But he had no control, as if he were not the master. He could feel it squeezing, His breath getting stanch. He could feel his soul being quaffed away, But he would not have a chance. It was the pain of a knife, Being shoved through his chest. But as the pain grew more, So did the feeling of complete rest. The feeling was hard to explain, He felt as if he would die. As if the cool-ness covered the pain, But loving the feeling of the intense high. As he sank into the garden, He whispered the warning. It carried in the wind, And onto the morning.” My mother fell back in her chair, Looking as though she was broken. She did not say another word, For fear of the warning spoken. It was on that dreadful day, When the tale had been told again. It was soon to end a life, As if to say Amen. So now as I walk this lonely road, Not knowing where my feet have lead. I glance ahead just once, And am doomed to bear the dread. I could not help the pull I felt, I could not break away. For I have heard the tale, So this became my day. I walk into the garden, Feeling the pain all around. This is the end of my tale, For the curse I have just found.