The Dream of Spring
Tired of snow, tired of cold wind and fuzzy pajamas
and tired of darkness.
Once the ice falls into your heart-
not even the hope of spring is enough
to thaw the numbness inside.
The sun and moon tell us that spring has sprung
but no one seems to have included mother nature in the loop.
A warm spring day- a picnic in the woods
and a good book would be the
perfect poultice for the frost bitten soul.
Pink flower, blue flowers, yellow, white,
purple and red flowers dance
in a sea of green to their own
music piped by the wind.
Beautiful in every sense and thought.
Baby animals and people full of love
flirting like the cheery sun
thru the dappled maple leaves.
Dreaming of the perfect spring day
and actually living it are universes apart.
All ideas fueled by the angry rain
and too much warm herbal tea
sustain me for now but all pleasure
seems empty without the warm glow
of the dream of spring.
Spring never used to seem so short or fleeting before.
With never a chance to savior-
only a tiny ghost of a taste
that excites the taste buds
but fails to deliver.
All I want is to dance
barefoot in the clover
and to write poetry
in a gazebo
drinking in the warm breeze.
All dreams must end- even the dream of spring.
Days get longer and hotter and the freshness of
the wind turns into a stale blast full of
bitter smells and musty sweat.
But even in the summer heat- the dream of spring survives.
Fall comes softly and quietly- sometimes it is even more
subtle than the dream of spring
but fall is slowly descending into the cold
darkness of winter- so no matter how beautiful fall may be-
it always possesses a tinge of death in it.
Of all the seasons- not one possesses as much
hope and wonder as spring.
Even though as the world changes because
of our world- as long as there is spring-
there will always be hope.