Seasons Poem by Jeremy James

The glance, youthful energy, lust.
Effortless in its creation, love swarmed as spring Monarchs.
The awkward kiss, the tireless I Love You’s,
and her hands…
her tender hands gripped tight, choking mine with anticipation,
eager to fulfill destiny.
And it was good.

College and careers abound, a fiery union…
tenacious and immortal.
Whippersnappers arrived, intoxicating laughter roared as rivers.
Content, life drifted as the summer breeze.
Our hands intertwined, her grip was firm and steadfast.
Secure.
I was the hero, the dream catcher.
And it was good.

Fall breezes meddle, once feverish now fizzled.
Youthful giggling that frolicked in the air echoed a teenage hollow...
once an open passage, now cloaked in withdrawal.
The wind is too cold for the Monarch.
I know her butterflies have left.
I grasp at her hands, but they dance away as the fall leaf.
And to me,
it was still good.

Naked I stood… a lonely spirit,
swaying as wilted grass.
Facing wintry gales, tears froze to my cheek.
Daily smiles of salutation, were saturated in obligation.
My arm outstretched as a barren branch…
I searched for the tenderfoot, my first-born.
But it danced alone in the December wind.
I reach out again with my dying branch…
searching for the soft hand of yesteryear.
But it again danced alone,
cracking at the joints, bark whittled.
Oh, how good it used to be.

Her season has changed…the spring Monarch looms.
The awkward kiss, the energy, the lust…
for another.
Seasons flourish for her soft hands, now gripping again.
Her feet race toward another,
nearly tripping in my wilted grass.
It will be good for her.

My hands now battered, weathered by the seasons.
Callous and brittle,
they sting with each blizzard.
I slumber along, scaling each snow-covered peak,
until spring,
and the Monarch.
And it will be better.