Seasons
Winter came, cruel and merciless,
the wind froze to silent perfection,
and I was standing in the plains - desolate,
a heart made of stone - unbeating,
watching blindly the icy subjection,
so eternally beautiful, never repeating...
Spring came, mute and reluctant,
rain replacing snow with fury,
and I was floating in the rivers - hesitant,
water replacing blood, the coldness
touching the soft flow with apathy,
so tender with death, so remorseless...
Summer came, scorching and vicious,
the Sun and Moon suddenly made sense,
and I was burning in the fires - delicious,
no searching soul, just emptiness
desperately seeking joy without pretense,
so petty, because it is defenseless...
Autumn came, peaceful and timid,
the fog and colors fought in vain,
and I was singing with the wind - wicked,
the thunder was my voice - pretending,
deceiving the harvest with the mundane,
so cheerful, now slowly dying...
