Seasonless

Polished antique flames revived

To cast out darker tyrant ice.
Spiders spin a tapestry.

Bees buzz sweet dripping victory.

 

Finch priest owns his birdbath perch;

Tuxedo dance of sunshine scrub.

Enter sister morning dove

To bask and hear the sermon.

 

Earth worms squirm in moist black soil,

Blue jay slays them one by one.

Mudbug tower juts from earth;

A church amongst the weeds.

 

Seeds of laughter, hymns of joy,

Clear cold skeletons dissolve.

Life springs up as days revolve

Around the need to love.

 

Flowers bloom and boom their hues:

Reds and blues; yellows and whites

Sweating dew that catches light

And tosses it all around.

 

And, yet, I can be found shut in;

Eyes as dead as winter muck,

Stuck inside the frigid mope;

No hope to warm my soul.

 

You sleep beneath the makeshift cross;

A loss too deep for me to bear.

Years of pain for moments slain

In seasonless existence.

 

Let black clouds enshroud the earth,

Drop the moon into the sea,

Shatter every ticking clock,

Let shadows eat me whole.

 

Crack the church bells, burn the trees;

Don’t taunt my heart with fancy lights.

I abstain from lovely songs, scents, sights;

They’re vicious ghosts that haunt.

Author's Note

This is about my grandpa...after grandma died he stopped. he went a year later. he said, for him, it was "a seasonless year."

Reviews

[Nothing Personal]

Beautiful, accurate and perfect elegy for him..It's a very touching poem, given its context and its setting blended with your language..you are indeed one of the greatest observer/ imagination blender poets I've ever read..How do you do it? This one personally touched me on many levels..Well done, pal

[freelancejouster]

first of all: everything is devestatingly beautiful and undoubtedly accurate. heart-touching, heart-breaking, heart-altering... there isn't one word that quite describes the way this affects the reader, er. me. and... i'm not going to say it made me cry, because it didn't, because i don't cry, but it came damn close and being in such a public place as this, that's terrifying...

just a side note: is there another way to word it so that there's not just an occasional rhyme? it seems vaguely awkward, like it's sitting on the edge of a paint can with one foot in. as if it can't quite decide if all of it wants to be that color or not. though, i suppose, in a world without seasons, one would have only a blue foot.

[Deactivated_BurningDemo..]

The start paints such a beautiful picture of spring. The ending paints such a picture of loss. The contrast is painful, yet beautiful.
Another amazing write.

[Tim Lion]

I remember that. Poppa Bob went numb. It was the saddest thing I've ever witnessed. You captured it well enough to make me cry. B*****d. Love ya. I have to go wash my face before someone sees me like this.