under the pensive moonlight
painting the leaves with
silent songs of sadness.
The rainbow of my moods, crushed,
to a single dreary hue.
The womb of my longings, gutted,
coloring the carpet of withered blooms.
No more summer blue skies ...
Just wintry nights ...
The safety of my innocence, picked,
my intellect, raped,
the river of my thoughts, sullied,
My heart, stilled.
I walk through my secret garden,
the secret garden of my fears.