Death of Seasons

It was in the soft presence of autumn,
as I watched every leaf fall
That I realized...
Innocence was like the slow dying of the seasons.

It was in the persuasive song of Spring
I remember I was 4
Sitting in the strawberry patch
Of my grandma's old house
covered in the sticky juice and leaves
Dogs and ducks ran through the field
So the city had to yield, to its tranquility
And I often got lost, because the grass
was taller than I. But I didn't mind.
So I just lay and watched the clouds
Till my cousin found me.
The cat, Elviria, always got fur on my clothes
And purred then hissed and protested our friendship
The neighbor wrestled with me in inappropriate ways
But still I snuck out the doggie door to play...

I was in the death march of the Summer to Fall
I remember I was 14
And spent the last sunny days
dancing with you in the waves
Then I took Sylvia's advice and got some pills
I thought would kill the suffocating feeling
and break open the bell jar that was surrounding me
But they never worked and I gave up the fight
And let him lead me out in to the darkest night
I stood before the black shore, shivering
Thinking of the tall field and strawberry patch
His lips running down the back of my neck
My hands jutting out of the pier toward the Sea
Pleading at the edge, whispering "Take me, take me."
Unfortunately, the dark stranger thought I meant him.

But no tears would come to these hollow, black-painted eyes
A tormented wreck hiding behind an innocent velvet face
Wishing for that purity, like snow
Wishing for that glistening, like gold.
That never came. That never came.
But that night, I did not step into the waves,
they just crashed repeatedly upon my memory
So I went back to that old house,
where my grandpa drank and my grandma cried
And saw nothing left, no strawberry patch
just broken planks of wood and abandoned cars
And there I saw myself lying the middle of the rubble
where that old rocking chair should have been.

It was in the shivering embrace of Winter,
I remember the year before I left for San Francisco
I was growing quite tired, but they all came back to me
All appeared before me, in a fit of swirling dreams
Calling to me, with pleas of love and confessions
But I lay sleepless, deaf to all their cries
Staring up at the starless sky, floating on my back
down the river Styx...