In the tranquil woods,
I wander,
each tree a thought,
each breeze a lesson.

Remind me,
in every pathway,
I am part of it all,
in this art,
called life.

Maybe in another life,
that was the deal.
A silent plea for the love we once shared to blossom and grow,
a flower swaying in the breeze.

Maybe in another life, yes.
But all we have is this one.
A life so meaningless it seems silly to keep on with the childish dreams of redemption.

So the flowers in my garden will continue to grow,
Without the help of your watering.
No matter how badly I desire the help.