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Hidden Gardens
Alan Goodson

Alan’s web site, The Cabin (, offers a wealth of wonderful written stuff – poetry and prose, his and others’, as well as some excellent links and a lot of other things. We recommend a visit. While there, please read his poem “Angel’s Prayer,” another of our favorites.

A world with simple pleasures seems so hard to comprehend,
So many doors I knock upon, but few will let me in.
And in my search for answers to the questions that I find,
Sometimes I get entangled with the dreams I left behind.

We sail the oceans of our minds to shores both near and far,
Adrift upon our inner tides, to find out who we are.
But if I should become the person I was meant to be,
How would I know that I had reached my final destiny?

Would there be someone waiting there to hold me in their arms,
To dry the tears I shed and keep me safe and sane and warm?
Or would I find myself alone still searching for the truth,
When all the dust of paths I walked has settled on my youth?

So many walls I build against the furies of the night,
And every tear I shed can add a layer to its height.
And then one day I find I’ve nearly locked myself inside,
Afraid to let the walls come down, I’ve found a place to hide.

Protecting what I hold so close, afraid to let it show,
My deepest hidden gardens with the flowers of my soul.
Protective of their beauty while I tend to them with care,
While dreaming of another soul whose beauty I can share.

At times I step beyond the walls, but still I lock the door,
So no one enters while I’m gone in search of something more.
But all I see around me are the walls that others build,
A world of brick and mortar with the doors so tightly sealed.

And in the streets abandoned, I am forced to walk alone,
In shadows of discomfort, ’twixt the castles made of stone.
The darkened alleys hold no clues to what may lie within,
And on the air I smell the stench of every mortal sin.

So on I walk through streets aflame with fires of doubt and fear,
With all the wasted love I spent reflecting in my tears.
While ashes fall upon my heart, to muffle every beat,
So others never hear the sound, like drums of soft defeat.

Sometimes I hear the footsteps of another weary soul,
Who chanced to leave the shelter where their hidden gardens grow.
But when my eyes have fallen on their sad and empty shell,
I only hear the echoes of another’s private hell.

I talk awhile to be polite and pass the time of day,
Then nod my head to say goodbye, and go my separate way.
For all along I sensed that nothing more was meant to be,
Their walls are much too high and they don’t offer me the key.

A city full of strangers huddle quietly at their doors,
Afraid of my intentions, so my knocks they still ignore.
In silent desperation, holding tightly to their pain,
Their fear of losing everything forsakes what they could gain.

Why can’t we let the walls come down, to set our spirits free?
We’re all the same and in the end, that’s all we’ll ever be.
The tears we cry, the love we need, the essence of our heart,
Why must we hide behind the walls that keep us all apart?

Imagine for a moment, if we had the wings to fly,
And every hidden garden was exposed before our eyes.
We’d see the awesome beauty from an angel’s point of view,
A rainbow brought to earth with every color bright and true.

A glowing magic carpet joining every heart’s desire,
The palette of our soul’s intent to take us ever higher.
Above the walls of fear we build to hold us safe within,
Then maybe we could share the keys to let the others in.

Open Space