Seasons
In summer, in winter
in spring and in fall,
in bitter cold and pouring rain,
under the hottest sun and the moonless sky,
I dream of rivers,
running deep and flowing endlessly,
passing through hundreds of dreams
and thousands of regrets.
I dream of deserts,
tiny grains of despair, of terror,
of hope, all mixed together, countless.
Vast and empty, but perfect in a way, as always.
I dream of green, green grass,
of bare toes wiggling in dirt,
and rolling down hills as a child at play,
laughter and joy my truest, bluest friends.
I dream of night,
twilight turned to dusk turned to black,
a billion stars twinkling, fading, imploding, dying,
a million lives lived beneath them,
but just one that lives to keep
dreaming.
I don't usually post my works so closely together, but I wrote this in a frenzy of inspiration, and I like how it turned out.
