When you are the metaphor for a season
I choose to be my own winter
For it is not as cold as it can get
In your whim and or fancy
Some day you dawn, most days you have been dusk
Yet I have remained as noon
Stark, rigid and burning
your comfort, I seek
Not mine, your's for you matter
Yet I know better and I let go often
For you seem to seek me in loneliness
The other times am nothing less than a pariah
Yet to me you will remain
Always warmly wanted and welcomed

Harpies singing songs of gay
Sweet banshees sing like jazz by the bay
And the sun freezes the ponds and lakes
As the moon lit nights scorch the earth
The fish sits tired post the long walk
And the star is just a mildew speck
The gentle touch of nettle like silk
Abrasive roses are droopy at sleep
The ears see a gentle mist
The eyes hear nothing ahead
The water flowing uphill gently
As the stone falls into the blue skies
These are but how I see things
For these are not how anyone can
So in my unsettled mind
I hear nothing of wonder now.

A gentle splash of rain
More of acrid, less of sane
Between the entangled remenants
Swishy winds and morbid pain
Empty glasses, no sunset nor ice
Nor is the clatter of bratty voices
No echoes, no shadows
No light, no darkness
Yet so much, in such little space
Time in its apace
Age just a milestone on a bleeding heel

Sleep

Where is the solace
When the strings of absolution tugs
Between the obvious and being oblivious
Was a place of peace and calm
Subtracted from realism
Into a surrealistic escape
Only to be constantly awakened by dreams of harrow
Of uncalled thoughts
Long lost etches
Are suddenly prevalent
They may have been but was easily overlooked
Yet now brought to clear
Painted by darkness of sustained fear
Where were you
Where you are now, maybe I was
Maybe I would not be
Sometimes the mind wanders on the wondering
While the time escapes like a shadow in light.
Dawn, hell maybe it is dusk
Either matters not
For nor does daylight nor star lit skies
Maybe it will all be a dreaded dream
And I will wake up in cold sweat.