Monday, September 12, 2011

Paranoid Reflections

Autumn blows in, sharp and cold,
and bitter is the remembered taste
of Autumns past, shrouded in mold.

I hide in my bed, I cannot face
a world turned grey by wind and rain-
sweet Summer's youth is laid to waste.

Wat'ry-eyed November, the days days trickle away,
I lie abed, smelling Winter's dank breath
and hear his knife-like fingers rattling my windowpane.

A torturous game the seasons play, on me and on the Earth,
I hear them now, outside my door, chuckling in their mirth.


Arizaphale said...

Oh for God's sake....come to Australia! I think you need a holiday.......

BrightenedBoy said...

This poem is absolutely gorgeous. Even as someone who adores the cold months I loved this.

By the way, it's good to see you blogging again.