After the last mellow fruit has fallenand the bright mantle of summer is shed
nothing else's there to offer but
branches torn by winds and bent beneath the burden
---
how many leaves does a tree has to loose before it dies
where does its hope come from
that there will be budtime again
why is its faith
in the face of the bare fangs of winter
into the void eyes of snow
why does it sleep and dream
instead of asking for the final steel
---
And so, the Sun has tumbled away
falling behind the dark side of the world
say goodbye to
whatever now
your skeleton is what you have
---
and what am I supposed to do with
the fresh foam of troubled anger?
with a cold sweep of shadowed water?
without a body?
---
6 megjegyzés:
That was chilling! I felt my spine tingle as I read this, especially in light of the Global warming post. You have great emotional range with your words. Kudos to you. You are extremely talented.
Ello, thank you so much. *blushes*
I liked the ruminations here.
Perhaps the answer is that we have no choice. We are alive as long as we continue to endure despite the winters. We are done living when we cannot.
And what happens Jason, when one finds that although winters are being at the border of endurable, they almost overlap each other, leaving small intervals of spring/summer/fall?
Plus, when one feels the only responsible person for such stupid a weather is one itself?
And becomes irritable to the point of wishing for constant silence?
And finding no solace in silence?
Then you learn to ski. Because on the coldest day, you can whisk over the snow, and even the still air rushes like wind.
and what is skiing?
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