Marshmellow (evangelion_100) wrote in bleeding_words,

The Seasons Of Youth

[The Exhumation of my youth]

Surrounded by fields
of golden wheat
glistening knowingly
in the sun
gently dancing
in the soft wind,
time spent
in an island forest
of decay and rebirth
(a little piece of typicality)

Foolish games
of childish simplicity
passed the time
as I dueled the thistles
that stood so tall and proud
(I was so sure
that they were my
but they were really only
lonely guardians)

And the dirt roads
passed by the dirty ponds
forgotten by the children
of tomorrow
who can not cast stones

Winter's giant hands
would cover the land
as far as my little eyes could see
in a pristine and white blanket
of purity
for months
that drowned in time's heartless abyss
and blinded by the sun
I would run
through the snow
until the numbness
gave me wings

Then spring
would shred winter's blanket
with its munificent rain
and the days and nights
would come alive with
such fierceness
that it emptied your mind
(stuck in the eye of the storm
you couldn't justly appreciate
its power)

But fall
was always my favorite,
with its flurry of colours
and each colour's stunning and unique
lighting up the oxygen
and your thoughts
as they gracefully fell through the air
(the beauty of death
and the anticipation
of rebirth
the branches on the trees bare
like skeletons)
That silence I felt there
as a child
holds me still
in these rusty days

and now there's all this
calloused superficiality
scattered about the hallways
of a new house

and strangers talk about the weather
dreaming of a time
when they will wake up
(there's always something
between us)

There is thunder
in a homeless man's eyes
that I can see
from miles away
it shakes the earth
and it is worth more
than a million denizens
of this city
(here now
he watches in the twilight
from afar
the solemn burial
of my youth)
they reached towards the sky)
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