Weary of the fight, she put her heart upon the mantle.
Eager to embrace the solitude that has found her.
Never knowing what she’d done to be deserving of his kind.
The passage thru the secret garden is where she rests her mind.
Past the doors that mark the hallways of her thoughts.
Glimpsing in she sees the fragments of a life.
Fleeting moments that rest her weary heart.
Struggles that surround her senses, sharpened words that tore apart.
Hues of blue now fading in reflections.
Once cloaked from view she whispers for affection.
Still tethered thoughts she yearns beyond her mooring.
She dare not drift too far away-her mind it keeps exploring.
As if to bare her soles upon the ground.
Traversing thorn beds down below, each step she takes, a path is found.
Until one day her garden pillow blossoms at her feet.
A brand new path her heart is on, the pain she casts, renewal she greets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem