Seasons In Between
Clem M. Bascar
It seems I lost track of my consciousness,
I must have left it among the strands of darkness
and beams of daylight scattered across a tattered
mantle of grass by a witching wind;
Itīs the first dawn
and I bid farewell
to all my childhood dreams.
Itīs already dawn
but the chill of midnight still refuses
arrogantly to depart from my deeply furrowed chin;
Ah, the ravages of time have surely taken a fatal toll
on my soul; itīs no surprise for they are too visible
for a childīs eyes to ignore.
Itīs the last day of fall
and a pauper welcomes reluctantly
the first flakes of snow.
Somewhere a fowl screams
but soon silence overwhelms again;
Itīs the rhythm everybody dreads...
for it could only mean one thing-
the cross-over of oneīs life to another plane.
Now, itīs the second twilight