A Lonely Man

[Vignette]

When other seasons
fade away to a realm
rife with ghosts of the past,
we come to the final season.

Not green and lush like beautiful spring.
With its fertile moist valleys,
blooming flowers in vibrant colors.
The palpable sense of love in the air;
burning bodies intertwined at dusk.
Scent of passion and night jasmine
riding on sunset rays.

Not saturated with golden beams of sun,
hot breezes of summer
dancing on bronze skin.
Caressing cherubic faces,
warming cheeks rosy red.
Splashes of water play,
squeals of delight.
Picnics and fairs,
ballgames and barbecues,
campfires and fairytales.

Not crisp with autumn foliage
in harvest colors of orange and gold.
Cherubic faces grown and gone
to seek their own spring.
Summer’s delights
passed away
in the blink of an eye.
Empty houses.
Missing voices.
A faint echo remains,
a fleeting glimpse of nostalgia.

No, winter has none of these notable treasures.
Instead it is the lonely companion
who sits silently, resigned
to longing for love
with no hope of receiving it.
Refused and shunned,
yearning for past seasons
of heated flesh,
and love and passion.

Winter is the ending of a song
The slowing of the melody
The softness of the music
as it fades away to silence
and emptiness…

[deryk]

There is a bright wind in this somber cascade of the seasons. Forgive me for saying so, but this is a marked improvement over the last of your works I have read. You lost me on the ending, but the preceding stanzas were emotive in their simple genuine nature.

[Vignette]

Thank you, Deryk - I appreciate your comments. In hindsight I think the ending could have been done better. I was trying to convey winter as an ending or death to the relationship.