MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Eagle Landing by Albert Rollins

Poetry


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
of summer...
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
of spring.

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