Look Ahead

A child in Spring like a gust of wind in play.
Leaves laughing, tickled green by this light and heavy air
bloated with kites and rainclouds.

Nothing was the same in summer's warm, welcoming womb.
Full of life on a comatose July afternoon,
with nothing to do
save touch the sun's gentle flames.
Licking our shins, forearms and necks.
Take it all in
Irradiate ourselves to Blackness.

The death of a long summer
everything must go.
Leaves fall off trees
as hearts come off sleeves.

Apples and sap
fall into our sticky hands.
The dirt rubs deep
into our sticky minds.

Earth decomposes
into fleeting colours.
Red, yellow, green
on a blue sky backdrop.
Fade into shades of
brown,
shades of
grey.

Trees shiver in the wind.
Naked brooding branches
reach for the sky,
for Ra, the sun, God.
Something blind and deaf,
that doesn't know we're here.

Innocence is found for one cold hour.
as a white stillness blankets everything.
Sticky and quickly rubbed into dirt.

The frozen air grasps and gropes
for our warm supple skins.
Cuts through our fluffy defenses
Taking away our carrot heat.
our apple heat.
our medium-rare steak heat.
Burned in microscopic furnaces,
warming our pink and blue bodies
and staining the white snow.
Though people still freeze to death
when all the snow is red.

There's a feeling of stagnation.

Not much use in being alive
not much use in being dead.
wait for a warm gust of spring
to rejuvenate us again.

Posted Tuesday, 23 December 2008 at 00:17