The Changing of the Seasons of Death

I can imagine the sea,
Its subtle waves of sweet melancholy,
The melodies of the water lapping at the land's feet;
The smell of salt pervades the air...
Sand, hot and bright, beach white,
Pure, and fine as powder-
Remind me of the innocence of nature.

Whispers of the night air bring me vivid images of sirens,
The sweet sound of singing voices are forever imprinted in me.

Everywhere I go, there will always be a siren singing me to shipwreck...
Waiting, and beckoning me unto my most beautiful ruin,
My paradise I lost in the changing of the seasons of life.
I am forever encompassed in the duality of life and death,
In creation and destruction-
For each hold sway over every life.

I have talked to death once,
His breath shaky, as if with every breath he died once more...

He spoke of love and loss to me in quite sympathetic tones,
In the colorful language of poets.


The changing of the seasons bring depression,
As the Winter, oft dark and cold sets in,
One can only lie in bed and hope for the peering of the sunlight
To break through the veils of clouds,
To speak in bitter tones to all of the desolation it sees.

And death closed my eyes one Winter night, as I hoped for the sun,
He closed my eyes as he whispered to me.

He told me I have nothing to fear anymore.