In the Garden dancers meet
collective souls from the street,
each in refuge from the light
come embrace this comfort in the night.
Leather, lace, the painted banshee`s yell
frolicking under evil spell
and...
of warriors thundering feet
marching into hell.
In the Garden clear
life is ours to appear,
from the depths
without regrets
nothing is to fear.
As our souls we give to burn,
we take our turn
to embrace
with this grace
what we yearn.
In this heaven what we find,
something not from hell
but...
a place in time
where collective souls dance in rhyme
to the spell...
of what might shine..
from the Gardens well .
Dance on...
a phoenixs` rise....
to the darken skies......
© ronald
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