I cannot, in all seriousness
grant you Absolution
for you created the problem
Ergo, you must find the solution

I cannot, in all consciousness
grant you Pardon
for you trespassed, unlightly
Therefore, you reap the garden

If you stand proud
amongst weeds that cling
and nettles
that sting
and flowers that died
before they saw sunlight
Struggling through the cracks
so they just might
pretty up an overcast day
and say...

I think this garden
should have died yesterday

Then, I may, possibly
grant you Forgiveness
because you fell blind
to beauty, held an abhorrence
for Colour, and a scheme
that makes no sense to you,
but to me, the riotous blending
of Earth, to Sun,
to the Moon and the Stars
are simplicity

As could be

You

and

Me

I can't gift you
with any emotion
that you don't feel
I'm not Magical
I hold no appeal
but in my Garden
of never ending cycles
of Birth, of Death
I offer hope born
of longing to be free
from barren emptiness
I give you a place
to sit
a place
for your soul
to rest
to find
release
I offer you
Peace