Seasonal changes

Strange thing, that which happens
When the mind tells the heart not to look back.
There always comes a time
In which you give in,
You analyze the minutiae
All that you can.
It's a morning that shines brighter than usual.
But when you cast your thoughts Upon that past,
You realize how fast things have changed.
You are taken aback.
At that juncture go outside,
And do your best to enjoy
Life under the sun.
It's an evening that is fresh and is cool.
Without biting or spitting your face.
It's still strange
Not kiss someone good night.
To realize you felt that you had to,
That you didn't want to.
What you need now to remember
Is that you can forget,
Is that you let,
Mistakenly so,
Your heart and your mind
Share their feelings and thoughts,
To their utmost intimacy,
To only one heart and only one mind.
So, loneliness at times can be
A gruesome thing.
You feel its pangs throng inside your guts.
A seemingly restless anxiety.
A silent noise clouding your thoughts.
At those very moments remember,
Remember why you want to forget.
It's not that roses smelled so dear
That you can't bear the thought of that treasure,
That is gone;
It's that the country flowers that you held
In your hand,
Never did enchant you so
So that the heart,
Though not the mind,
Can't forget them.
For all those mornings and evenings form a season.
It's a winter with strange clear skies,
That sing of promise,
And of hope and love.
But it's winter still and at intervals,
You'll wish you had but a modicum
Of summer times.
When the heat was rough,
But at least it warmed the heart
Enough.
Remember, then.
Remember you grew sick and you grew weary
Into an unshaped self,
Unrecognizable,
Burnt.
But drenched in wet ashes,
Buried in the snow,
From the paleness of winter
You will rise.
Like a phenix to shine and to fly.
This is the path we all walk.
The stark truth of it all:
All the winters wither.
All the seasons die,
Every new spring to come,
Along with all the rest of ever-changing stations,
The summers and the falls,
And so it would be forever,
If for the always present gloom that creeps,
Forevermore.
Every single leaf falls,
And the earth that so provides,
Takes too in its turn,
And to no one grants forgiveness.
So is man like the years he spends,
In gaiety or gloom at times;
So is man in his pride,
In his grand solitude,
In his most intimate stance;
He changes and comes back to life,
But life, the shapeshifter, the law divine
It dictates all too sternly:
That which you left planted yore
You will harvest tomorrow.
So make all you can of the winter,
And also resist the temptation
Of looking forward too soon.
Always resist, never desist,
Think not even of the day,
Think of the moment.
Live there.
Live.
Everything will be all right.