What shall I say of the seasons?

In Autumn’s throes another limb crashes down

Deceased

Used for naught but the kindling of fire

Even of Winter’s frigid squalls barreling through

Hollow

The very flesh on my bones remain void

Spring’s clouds hang beyond my head- tears smite my brow

Alone

Yet the sun will not bear to behold me

What say you of the Summer?

 

Her heats of passion were never mine

Bound to me but meant for another

In her heat was the cold of separation

To be near to the heart but tossed away

 

Was I invisible to you

Insubstantial

A tedious circumstance

Insignificant from your lofty heights?

Was there one more worthy for your passion?

It is certain

So release the branch!

Let it rot!

Perhaps you found more enjoyment

To watch me wither away

 

Would it be so that Summer is temperamental?

That the world’s maker from his creation be exiled?

He wishes not for the sun

He fears revelation

So why shed light on that which is cast away?

Unwanted

A leper

 

The scars of Summer was borne in ill fate

But I urge for more

Perhaps when I have naught to bleed

Will I neglect the pain

Finally unable to feel

 

Oh, the times one imagines confrontation

Not for his sake to heal

But to mar his transgressor

The times thought to speak

Of his hate

Of his malice

Of his pain

Of his love

Of his desire to once again feel the Summer’s rays

But with desire comes memories

With the memories; pain

Silence is his comforter

A malevolent spirit

An unuttered cry

 

Assuredly, Spring’s watery darts will pierce my heart

Yet can they outweigh mine own?

So shall Winter’s mocking cry

Sweep me from my feet

And so I shall drift

What do I have left to fear?

Can I still feel?

Again, another limb will crash in the midst of Autumn

Again, it shall it be destined for the fire

Deceased

Alone

Holllow

Withered

Perhaps, it was me

Perhaps I am withered

Useful for naught but the kindling of fire