The Garden

The greens, the blues, the yellows,

How beautifully the mix together.

I strike the canvas with the soft bristles of my brush.

Smooth, intricate strokes.

I reveal the garden on a hot and bright day.

I try to enter the painting,

But I am rejected.

Please, just let me into the peaceful garden.

I want to feel like soft blades of grass on my fingers.

I want to feel the warm sun kiss my skin.

I want to feel the weak wind strike my body,

Like my brush strikes the canvas.

Peace. I want to feel peace.

Charles, let me into your garden please.

Despite the Summer air, I am forever cold.

Surrounded by brisk darkness.

In fact, I am drowning in it.

Charles, pull me into your garden please.

No? You cannot?

Fine.

I must escape the darkness somehow.

You cannot pull me into your garden, 

So I will pull the trigger.

BAM!

The whites, the golds, the silvers.

How beautifully they mix together.

There are many gardens here.

I have found my peace.