Once again,
the wheels of time have
changed
and nature starts the
autumn preparations
for the long sleep of
winter.
A sleep nobody is sure
to survive.
Time again to take
stock,
evaluate the path
covered
and accept the unknown
with the possible peace
of mind.
A Spring of Unrest
Long ago, youth felt like a bird
locked inside a closed window.
Slashing claws, piercing beak, striking wings,
charging again and again.
On the other side of the slippery glass,
freedom denied.
That way I was, that way we were
and then the world has turned
around our listless souls,
around our hopes and desires.
With laughter and pain
with love and sorrow
with success and failure
with purpose and spin.
In the end, it all faded away
although not all was in vain.
A Summer of Hope
So much time has passed
so many dawns and sunsets
so many seasons spent turning
and returning
around the stone wheels of the stars.
Then, it all congregated into a maze
where we felt trapped within.
Cannot do this because of that,
have to do this in spite of what.
So many links and connections
so many dependencies and limitations
and the whole world was ours to own...
A Fall of Discontent
My hands no longer reach far enough to touch you.
Your kindness, your suspicions, your disappointments,
is that still love or just exasperation?
My eyes no longer see the other side
of our river of fire,
a river that burns my mind and ensnares my will.
Where did it go, my former self?
Where have they gone, the powers of my mind
that could overcome any curses
the gods would throw my way?
Where are the wings
that carried me everywhere?
Where are the legs that could take me away
from the bars built by time and age
around my exploding sanity.
Here goes an enraged warrior
despising the reason he is enraged for...
A Winter of Wrath
The gods of time
always came too fast.
They spin the wheels
they cast the equinox spells
that bring these days of hell.
They come to extract
the price of the pact,
the price to pay
for the sins known
and the errors unknown.
Now, what is left to say?
Who is there to tell?
They may have come too fast
but they have come at last
and here are the days of hell...
I think, I feel, I
speak, I write, I act,
I am the places where
my feet stand,
places with no memory of
me.
In this last place
where I now belong,
my being is no more
than the dustbin of stars.
JSR
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