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September
- Oct 21, 2007 at 10:51 PM
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- Comments (1) Total Views (85) Everyone can see this journal post.
SEPTEMBER
I've been awake for a while now, A cold wind blows over the city,
I welcome in the change that I will despise in February.
The leaves, beautiful in death, fall; in a ritual of progression and survival.
People rediscover sweaters and hoodies, misplaced for the summer.
Coffee shops and scarves will soon be in high demand.
Questions of hibernation arise in my mind,
Only to be overwhelmed by daily life.
This change, this furtherance of cyclic necessity,
Brings with it the need for another.
Lost, but far from obliteration lies the one emotion we all fear,
pulses quicken and commitment becomes a heavy topic.
Love; we are logically opposed to, emotionally we will extinguish without.
My hands are cold as they brush a tear from my face,
Leaving a reminder of long defunct memories.
Trial necessitates triumph, but breeds disgrace.
Victory by default; sweet as the rotten apples under the tree.
Methods to sustain the continuation of process: Ways of coping.
Eating away at my soul, burrowing deeper into my desolation,
Weakness is my symbiote. Without it I would find comfort in nothing,
Without me it would not exist.
Deep thoughts lead to deeper emotion, I must first prime the armory.
Unprepared to gallantly march, I retreat to the coffee shops and scarves.
I've been awake for a while now, A cold wind blows over the city,
I welcome in the change that I will despise in February.
The leaves, beautiful in death, fall; in a ritual of progression and survival.
People rediscover sweaters and hoodies, misplaced for the summer.
Coffee shops and scarves will soon be in high demand.
Questions of hibernation arise in my mind,
Only to be overwhelmed by daily life.
This change, this furtherance of cyclic necessity,
Brings with it the need for another.
Lost, but far from obliteration lies the one emotion we all fear,
pulses quicken and commitment becomes a heavy topic.
Love; we are logically opposed to, emotionally we will extinguish without.
My hands are cold as they brush a tear from my face,
Leaving a reminder of long defunct memories.
Trial necessitates triumph, but breeds disgrace.
Victory by default; sweet as the rotten apples under the tree.
Methods to sustain the continuation of process: Ways of coping.
Eating away at my soul, burrowing deeper into my desolation,
Weakness is my symbiote. Without it I would find comfort in nothing,
Without me it would not exist.
Deep thoughts lead to deeper emotion, I must first prime the armory.
Unprepared to gallantly march, I retreat to the coffee shops and scarves.
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