Garden (Death Of Innocence) Poem by Sergio D'Amico

We were so Young when the doors
where flung open,
for we were unable to see
the visible sorrow of the shade
cast on the Garden lawns,
and the flowers swooned,
in a Garden that once bloomed.

A face which shone like the sun in the sky
and like the moon at night,
she captured our sight.
With one hand she touched our face,
with the other she stole our grace.
For some time we stood in the sky,
for the rest we were left to die.

With a butcher's knife,
she carved open the skies,
to irrigate the fields,
with the blood of angels that weeped.
In the bowels we were thrown,
and our mind went up in smoke.

For years and years we searched in vain,
for all things visible were forged from pain,
and from the depths and torments of the mind,
to the secrets unearthed in the darkest night,
on blooming flowers did our soul unfold,
a heart yet to remain unknown,
for the angel robbed us of our precious soul.