Saturday, March 19, 2016

Seasons (poem)

The seasons come and go,
But I remain.
I'm paralyzed by endless sunshine that burns red behind my closed eyelids and crisp wind that scatters scores of leaves across the sky and snowstorms that leave the world muffled and frozen. 
My solid frame is trapped in place, a breathing contradiction to my mind that will not be still.
The world does not cease its cycle for me. I am left behind, slowly deteriorating. The Earth waits to claim my dust for its own, not feeling, unmisted by judgment or preconception.

When I am gone, all that will be left is a faint, ethereal imprint of my consciousness, struggling even then to comprehend the planets and systems and galaxies and universes that somehow still excruciatingly manage to survive. Those sentient, swirling beings; somehow both immense enough to crush me beneath the weight yet exquisitely minuscule, gentle and delicate enough to exist on a pinpoint of a single thought.


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