Price Of The Season, The Poem by S.J. Goldner

(slight edit)

The days since you
have been more than difficult.
Late summer slides from a
baby blue, cotton-balled sky
into deep autumnal hues.

And I,
like my cats,
want to curl up ontop
a small plot of land
and rest my weary head.

No more beds of orchestrated, -
unparalleled bliss -
but rather the cold, harsh reality
of this dismal life.

It's too early to tell
how you transformed me;
or even how you impacted me.
The mind, still cluttered with lust.

Embark upon this setting road,
stricken with a lack of foresight.
Unguided amidst walls of confusion.
It's not fair that sky is endless,
but our joy is not.