I walked alone
down the winding
of the xyst,
where youthful flowers
bloomed all around me
and vines tangled overhead.
I sat on a stone bench
in the centre of a secret-filled garden
and I wept for all of my mistakes,
all of the things I knew I did wrong.
Where was the healing in it all?
This world still left with gashes,
wounds that I don’t know how to heal.
I still see them all dying
in front of my eyes
and I never did a thing to help.
I suppose it will heal over in time.
Something will grow out of this,
walking back up the winding xyst.
The smell of lilacs from a nearby bush overwhelming
I knew then that
from the ashes
will rises fragrant petals of promise
for a future of love and renewal.
Because it is a peculiar word: * Xyst- a garden walk planted with trees
I clearly took a little bit of liberty in making it sound more like a magical, enchanted, secret garden, hen just a path planted with trees.
Thank you as always for reading and sharing your thoughts with me below.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”