I couldn’t fix the Spring

In the unfinished passage of winter
I felt a Spring tide, in my heart
And harmonic celebrations
They trampled through the summer
Even beneath the Autumn’s glitter

And before the sun could simmer the cold
I felt a funeral, in my heart
A slow suicide of the seasons
And left were the wailers of spring

I could still palpate the sallowness
as that sense was bursting through
In departing friends of youth

I felt a convulsion, in my dreams
and hopes of harvesting times
that were afraid of the other seasons

And the Heavens were a chime
That reflected so elegantly in the silence
Where I am singular, undiminished
Softened in synonymity, I reclused the tinge

With a feather, larger than Serenity
I indicted the charms of summer
To cease the perpetuating history

I brawled with my destiny
till the alleged justice thrived
At every end, I tried to…
But I couldn’t fix the spring.


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