comes fast and steady
In the summer the
wind blows and so do
the dandelions
The winter brings cold
chills that feel like nothing
and blow nothing
the streets are barren
like his soul
for the winter comes
with no control
it stops and mimics
us with warmth
for when it returns
we scorn
nothingness
is what it blows
and the secrets it keeps
and holds - for when will
we see the heat again
another time when
we're not human
it's when we turn into
flowers and plants
as the Son returns -
we prance and dance
we remain cold
the streets empty
the wind blows nothing
except ice and leaves
and when it chills we
hardly breathe
We stupor then chill
like a dead man's body
when the Son returns
we win the lottery.
No comments:
Post a Comment