Questions about the untouched past,
answers only found in reverie.
The secrets of the universe,
erratic, enigmatic,
locked in a garden of fear and memories.

To grow a flower is simple –
Air, water, sunshine.
And quell the storms,
as seedlings sleep beneath the earth, 
growing, blooming, alive.

But people aren’t flowers.
And your words are a pretty soliloquy,
until you’ve realized that the very world 
that once seemed a lovely garden,
is now a lost menagerie.

A mirror might not have answers,
nor can any map lead you home.
Because no matter where you go,
you can’t forget the past,
how you were grown alone.