Beware of the garden this appears to be,
Is just but a construction of what, that would be
If let loose from chains, my mind.

Temptous, foggy and quite lost,
Cries launched from hindsight,
Could drive you insane.

Your voice could be heard,
No response forthcoming,
Drowned and simply buried, in spite.

The horizon, uncontrollably spiraling,
Perputually contracting,
Bright skies could just be, eyes of storms.