is the first day of autumn
and a leaf
revealed to me today:
how heavy the seasons are
on my shoulders
they reminded of the gravity
of all these days I leave behind.
Now in front of me,
a thrown summer
a torn Fall
and I still bear the burden of dragging myself.
Tomorrow the winter will begin
and the spring
will die in the sum of this year,
as if I always am sliding on snow
inflating like a snowball:
do I take the vastness of my whiteness to spring?
are the seasons drowning inside me,
or it is me,
who is seeping into them
like lonely drops upon the parched lips of tomorrows,
enchained by all the seasons I’ve ever lived,
along the sound
of the restless ticking-ticking grave digging
shovels of my heartbeat ?
In the wealth of all these seasons
is there a day that I could,, may behold
through the endless chains
that I have been weaving?
And from the height of all burdens on my chest,
could I ever find a glimpse
to the rush of all the seasons
caring the procession of my life?
I know this winter shall also droop, wither
in the spring in which it has imbued;
the way the summer
or my mother awaited my wine
and I am looking to my grail
upon the amber resin of the horizon
fossilizing my omnitude.
So many thoughts reading this! I have kept coming back to this all weekend. I love your voice in this, how each season affects you in a personal way, how each season adds to this heaviness in you, this burden you must carry.
Your writing is always creative, heartfelt and completely "you" - if that makes sense. I find such purpose and meaning in it, and that's just another reader interpreting and seeing your poem in one light.
Perhaps this is simply a reflection on how I currently feel, but the seasons seem to pass before we can fully "realize" or enjoy them, and how cliche it is to say "I can't believe it's already this time of year!", but it brings me to the realization how quickly life can pass... and how we can feel overlooked. I did feel that sense of loneliness in this, of maybe being and seeing the aftermath of change. Of knowing we are powerless. Of witnessing and having to accept it.