Seasonal Glimmering
Clocks shall rise out of earth;
Times are changing;
The season of facades is ending;
And the trees wilt their purple leaves
In exchange for a bluer hue.
As the leaves flit downwards,
Sometimes surprising you,
A few crumble to dust
Blackening and becoming null...
There is always a falling at the changing of times,
For it is by the falling that we know what the season truly was
And the colors of the wilt are a hint to us of what may come.
Fate is an unwritten thing,
But this is not to say that
There are not influences which bring about certain events.
A little encouragement, and a little weakness
Of temptation or strength
Are all that the seasons are;
And yet they are there.
Today is a Monday and the sky is not yet here,
But the leaves and dust,
They fall.
Especially when no one is watching.
A poem inspired by the influences of seasons.