My Picture

I once followed the seasons,
pleasant souls to celebrate.
In motion, wings of memories
back and forth.

Now, there are no seasons…..
only one…..
To survive the guts and spillage of glances smiling,
once fashioned there.

In helpless, grim fascination
I watch every sunrise and sunset.
A slight depression in the ground,
and a blushing sun turned to rust.

Now the eerie, cold and delicate sounds
pound my body through this growing landscape.
And dance alone in the high, morning sun.
The nearest thing to being alive….. today.