Price Of The Season, The - Poem by S.J. Goldner
The days since you
have been more than difficult.
Late summer slides from a
baby blue, cotton-balled sky
into deep autumnal hues.
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.
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