Seasons of the Damned
Birds perch on trees
cavorting, singing,
happily proclaiming
a day's awakening.
Leaves spring forth
from tiny boughs
smiling, greeting,
softly saying hello.
Flowers burst out
in wild, vivid colors,
wanton, shameless,
amid hills and plains.
As fishes leap wildly,
the brook flows lazily,
freely on its long way
to the wide open sea.
Then just as suddenly
all come to a standstill,
screwing up the living,
changing life to death.
Birds are there no more,
lifeless the firm branches
where they used to play,
into gold turn the leaves,
making bare the trees.
And come white blankets
enveloping the silent earth,
turning bleak and desolate
what once teemed with life.
Seasons come and they go,
returning and then departing,
but what never, ever changes
is man’s mad march to war.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
