No Garden Filled My Pains

If windows opened wider to greener gardens,
And shutters not stormed in repeated regressions,
If kindness called in more pleasant passings,
Would I be willed, revered, a chassis charmed?

Or would haste not hold my hands so steady,
And troublesomed trials be made to mold,
If hearts heaved hurts in louder lamentings,
Would I beg no more, boundless, of concerns craved?

But none no more, do desires dispel a flame,
And all this want weaves in fabric flawed knittings,
If cares contained canvases of regained realities,
Would I black pages, bleeding, of ventricles veined?