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Seasons
January 8, 2015
Distant hard voices, against a backdrop
so vain. Rhythmic, gray rain lands on my feet
with a score of pain. The cold echoes stop
comforts of still mind in a time off-beat.
Colors so soft you can hardly observe
Sound so bright, whispers of your fears
Over the gray fog, a symbol absurd
And through a rip in the clouds, rhythmic tears.
Winter time goes by, almost unannounced
So subtle, hardly brushing your shoulder
Before you know it- barren, unpronounced
Before you know it, it’s over.
Smother those waves, a mist soon of summer.
Dreams, maritime, remember me of her.
© Anonymous
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