Springtime of decay

The cherry blossoms are blooming
The coming of spring, the rejuvenation of nature and life
I see through these ancient lenses, with this blurry vision of mine
Men and women, basking in the sunlit glory of
Springtime’s youth. Like the rose tinted flowers that
The trees dare adorn this season, they rejoice in daylight
Absorbing its colorful gaiety. Yet not among them may
I frolic. I am the fallen petals at their side, slowly decaying
Unbothered by their immense shadow that shrouds the sun
In solemn mystery. Death's gate is within my sight
My frail limbs now lack the strength to escape its gravity as
Many a time i’ve done before. I sit here alone, illuminated
By the night’s stark moonlight, waiting for the doors of
Heaven or hell (only the divine judge may tell if my soul,
lighter than a feather weighs). Yet I am fallen, like the angels,
‘Tis in my blood to revolt, and thus I revolt against death’s
Encroaching hands, in this springtime of death and decay