Garden Minstrel's Soliloquy

Like the rosary you wore,
I hang a silent metaphor,
hidden in shame behind the door.

And all the songs for you I wrote,
they are like wings that don’t unfold,
they long but never felt the wind.

I recall on the night we met,
how so strangely you stared from behind golden hair,
were we really there?

And it seems like we’re strangers now,
in our prisons of distance and sorrow and doubt,
I just want to get out.

And when this garden minstrel sings
one of his sad soliloquies,
he’s trying to tell you everything.

He’s laid his plot within your soul,
but he’ll not reap what he has sown,
he’s cast his seeds upon the stone.

Do you still have all the poems I wrote,
all the letters and lyrics I bled from my soul,
that you hid in your home?

And the last night I held you tight,
your body was warm,
but another man’s fire,
is what you desire...

I’ll go...

...away