Seasons

Autums' birth, silhouettes form
darkness bind, beating calm
out to find, to take and leave
whistle-winds, lawnmowers cleave
those who mourn are still in wait
today is the first of summers fall.


Winter's grip, bleak and pale
all ambitions, will only prevail
in hibernation, in our darkened souls
in a snowclad pyre of burnt out coal
for the fresh and frozen lovers mind
today is the start of autums' death.


Springtime breathes, sleep subsides
within their minds, endless tides
writhing in joy, the rising sun
sanity entwine, a time has come
for blaze and power, light and lust
today is the day of winter's sigh.


Summer strides, momentum reclaims
the weakened state of froliced brains
adapting to life, with blood of addiction
swallowing sorrow, in more affliction
perceving time in a rythm of lust
This is the last day of spring.