The Garden Of Colors

the morning of wonder opened its eyes
and fell silent, a hush of whispers swirling
in awe at the sight of passion.

a lost rider of intent passing,
his faithful horse galloping
ever onward, ever forward
trailing lilting fires of freedom,
a blushing sun of lace,
its rays inscribing the sky.
bluebirds drew circles,
offering their throats
in choirs of hope:
may your journey be one of welcome.

many moons of midnight
the rider had confided in.
many ponds of shimmering starlight
his horse, Symphony, had drunk from.
weary, oh so weary,
the words had, more than one time,
slipped from his tongue and slid off his sighs,
always encountering, however,
a simple sign of god’s compelling
and subtle existence:
the wilderness in the sky,
ripened fruit falling from a branch,
a second of happiness,
the strange discovery of things known
but never seen,
indelible children frozen in laughter.

and then, at the moment when
his weariness lunged, willful in its want,
he saw, at long last, what he had searched
so long for:

the garden of colors.

her flowers blossoming into questions
her grasses reaching out in curiosity
her breeze singing tangled songs from tops of trees
her heart flowing like wishing streams through existence
an unknown excitement for life illuminating all shadows
uncovering every corner of every corner
revealing her deepest of secrets
sacred and sincere:

a rose
so frail, so vulnerable
the only gift she owns to advance,
her painted petals, delicate
and without armor,
releasing themselves,
at long last, to the wind
in favor of one intoxicating breath.

the horse knelt and bowed,
humbled and honored,
his worn and tattered lungs
born anew.
the rider, head down, dismounted
and stepped slowly to the gates.
bending to his knees, he removed his gloves
and brushed his fingers,
cut and callused, across the allowing bars
and spoke,
his voice a gentle quiver
his words the strange rush of truth.
“i will be the source of no harm.
i have traveled this distance
seeking only an instant of grace,
and then, if it is your desire
i shall take my leave.
please, if you will,
share with me your dreams.”

cradling his head to his knees,
he waited, peaceful and patient.
a vine suddenly found its way forth
and wrapped and wound itself around a sign,
mystical, it seemed, in its creation.
PARADISE, it calmly called,
deeming no need for extravagance.
with one pull, then, the sign broke back
and the gates, ancient and eternal,
returned from their slumber
and parted.

the rider unwrapped himself
and retrieved his gloves,
caressing his loyal horse’s mane.
and then, fully forward, with weary eyes now warm,
he released Symphony’s reigns

and slow but certain of step,
they walked inside…

…as the gates yawned, once again, and closed.