It is time

It is time to move amongst the bushes to isolate the rooms close up the gaps out from the lapse.

forget the clouds that gloomily hang around the centres stopping the breath from freely passing. to be alone as we all must be in birth and death no holding of hands or clinging to mother.

it is time for me to be to check myself alone within the spaces of walking through the avenues of trees that bend their branches their children leaves richly green drinking mother's milk detaching themselves and falling to the ground.

agonising moments of heart's despair in air on ground to breathe a sound alone in darkness hollow sound echoing back to sender.

remember the passion of the garden dreams wearing ceremonious garments the making of vows God, esteem and glory out from it away free has to be all will wither no more sound.