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Recycling of seasons
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Survey poems Find myself here every year,
After a couple of seasons maturing,
I find myself here by myself, again.
The winds of life are picking up,
And moving the important things in
my life, moving them far away.
You have fallen and left me
missing you, missing you unconditionally.
Colors have changed with the bringing of the cold.
Our colors have changed, portraying the colors
of loneliness. Alone, sitting in the darkness,
hanging on, like the last leaf in fall, clinging on to the branch.
I can’t break free, my pain rains down on me, and I have not fallen;
You were once there with me,
But now I am left missing you, missing you officially.
