In this garden time is creepingnThe odours so firm like a wallnCaressing me, making me loosing my willnAm I alone? How did I get here?nIt seems that a gate in my dreams let me passnWhat a picturesque placenA confusing heap of soundsnAlmost like silence if you consume them entirelynMy sight is sharpenednnGarden of delightnnI never find an exitnIf beauty could kill I would have died a hundred deathsnColours of a splendidness that I never saw beforenPlants are highgrown and perfectnBut somewhere there has to be a poisonous onenBeyond the surface, something is waiting just to overthrow menn