The Secret Garden

I will always remember that bittersweet memory;
the one that forever lingers at the edge of my consciousness;
the one that is always threatening
to fall into the depths of my mind and disappear,
yet never fading away.

I remember that,
some long ways away,
I laid in long, green grasses
as the wind tossed it about.

All the while,
I marveled
at the enchanting,
necromantic clouds.

I remember dancing in the grass,
swaying to a nonexistent aria I once forgot;
a whimsical lullaby that I now recall
from a world far in the distant past and future.

As I sleep,
those nights elicit long-secluded memories.

I remember slumbering
in the summery solitude of that garden,
that open meadow hidden in a mystical world
which I do not know of.

A wistful memory, a forlorn thought;
I long to go back to that place,
back to that field of wildflowers,
gentle winds, and sweet smelling grass.

I remember indigo tainted clouds
scuttling across the sky,
a gentle breeze coaxing them
towards new destinations beyond the horizon.

My fingertips vaguely brush at the memory
of that dream-like reality,
but no matter how much I yearn
and will for it to come back,
I am never able to grasp it in my hands...