The Glossy End Of New Adventure Poem by Jay Bradley

In Autumn, my soul dies in the glossy glow of new adventure, but summer steals my mind when I find peace and salvation;
For cancer seems to me a state of mind and constellation, and all young adventures reach their destination, though El Dorado is pyrite;

Night dreams in sweet September sun, while the seed plants itself deep in the soul of the dancing child virgins, but still my eyes cry for nature;
For death is life withdrawing from space and time, yet in no way can darkness be the absence of light; since all was lost, embrace the infinite as all we know;

What is equal along the equator when Spanish galleons cross the deep blue sea full of crowning stars awaiting birth though ignorant all the same which is why beauty chooses them;
The forest is a sea of green to be viewed only when riding the highest wave, and to wave at the seabed, smell the air as trees weep the fire that ruins the rake and saves us all;

Each beginning erases the end; the end of days does not exist except for the start of time; so sad the worm cannot speak for he records the passage of dunes, but if he broke his word it would continue;
The cow mows our lawn never fast but still is dedicated, so the feast arrives on time in the beginning, though in the end the crow counts the coffin jockeys and ring-bearers;

So too exists the landfill as a pun; the casual observers sense the difference with the same tears, twins divided at birth, but all the same, the trees decide our resting place when they meet us;

In winter, the mother deer hunts for sacred nectar, she cries for us sinners, and dies in a patch of splinters in a clever decaying canyon in the sea of green, to only be ended at the beginning of a new landfill that freezes so wrong.