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The Season Ends.
By TheProphetUntold
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In winter, once.
On winds I heard, in chord of strings,
the call of birds, and songs they sing.
A thought absurd, in leave of spring,
still I've pondered of stranger things.
Suddenly then, grave wounds opened,
as s.words gave rend to my heavens.
"Cursed demon! Winter's lament!
Why have you sent such vile intent,
be your contempt without relent!
Will all mend when seasons end?"
All at once.
In just moments, pages descend,
endless thousands, paper ravens.
Solely barren except written...
Once, then again, in blackest pen.
"It never ends... It never ends..."
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Copyright 2013 TheProphetUntold
Published on Monday, January 11, 2021.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Author's Note:
It never ends.Comments on "The Season Ends."
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A former member wrote:
Nice. I would suggest this to those countless poets who misuse rhyme. If well thought rhyme accentuates and magnifies the meaning, not detracts. I like the way it weaves through types of rhyme and un-rhyme. Well done, simple and timeless.
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On Saturday, February 16, 2013, FadedBlues
(2096)
wrote:
...overwheling atmosphere. edict of frozen desolation...
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A former member wrote:
& once I manage to get out....they find a way to pull...me... back IN! Paraphrasing Al Pacino in Three from memory there, so that's probably not how the orginal lines go...much better comment coming with all possible postehaste. This hit me hard & gave me a charge all at once....a-fucking-men that blackest pen....need to go pace around a bit for now.....
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