the garden

  I come into the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses

  and the voice that I hear falling on my ear

  the Son of God discloses

Relax


I go to where the tornadoes go to unwind

Where magma chills out . . .

To escape where mind sharks swirl in the mists of time.

I lounge in the whirling colors of sound,

Singing the pictures that reel around,

Losing the division of the senses. . .

Was it seen or felt . . . heard or smelt?

Listen to the waterfall of colors spill. . .

Splashing joyfully around

Music flowing brightly making no sound

Notes flying on dove like wings

Releasing the pain that threatens to fill

Breathing deeply the smell of Blue

Listening carefully to secrets revealed

Sitting quietly in the smoky mists of time. . . . .

Finally I relax and unwind. . . . .


© PH