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Winter

Summerís funeral has surely come!
For sure it is bedtime for the warmth
and the awakening of the chill.

Trees have been raped of their leaves.
All that stands are their naked bodies;
opened to the abuse of winter.

How beaten we are, how abused by each other.
Shall hellís fury or heavenís grace rule?
Our moon cuts a wink for us in the night sky,

shall we ever be mocked further?
From springís birth to summerís life,
fallís ill to winterís death.
gothicsurrealism
Written by gothicsurrealism (Daniel Long)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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