you're written in my book

the eden garden

it's hard to become someone.
nothing seems real, everything's stimulated.
ill forever misunderstand the television.
the thing that makes of people, pretty people.
my eyes tune in, my mind is elsewhere.
maybe down the stairs? or up amongst the apple trees?
I wish I had a secret garden.
It would have bushes shaped into hearts and stars, there would be a beautiful handmade hammock in the corner, underneath some shade for the summertime.
I would grow flowers everywhere, and have a small dainty path to run along without bashing the flowers, it would be so perfect.
the life that would sprout would bring such happiness and joy.
the birds would sing.
and my heart will throb.
id dance, and mumble songs of love to myself, to bring some life into the garden, me and the beloved songbirds would join my band, the polite whistles to compliment my soul.
id call it, my secret garden.