The Garden

Seems I walk along this path, more and more these days.

Remembering my yesteryear and trying to clear the haze.

The fog doth come and cloud my thoughts filling me with fear.

I sit in hidden darkness yet waiting for them to near.

My victims are but pawns you see,stepping stones if you will.

For I will use them in my garden, soil and bones to till.

I have a place I call my own, where I can find some peace.

It's in my garden of shear demise where I calm my beast.

With flowers there of every kind roses and lilies fare.

They grow so well and flourish there because I give them care.

The purest blood the freshest meat and bone meal for the soil.

And they greet me with love in return for my wicked toil.

If I were to show you now, my very special place.

I could show you a sanguine rose and a lily lace.

I even have a crown of thorns just for you to view.

And blood is all they ask for dear and this will come from you.

For I am just a tender here a slave to these poor dears.

And many have come and never left for so many years.

So now I walk yet again and in shadows I do hide.

Wait in sleepy slumber now on just the other side.

Good night my sweet, I'll see you there in your time of dream.

Where you'll help with with my task and no one can hear you screem.

by Shaman