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The Window of 2012

Poetry By: steven cooke
Poetry


2012 was the wettest year on record in England.Though the human inhabitants were oblivious to this.


Submitted:Jan 14, 2013    Reads: 4    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


The rose has framed the summer

the leaves have done their duty.

The flowers have shed their seeds

and the hedge rows offer their final feast.

This community of life will forget the rain

that killed their babes.

Nature's rage is done

the darkness of winter approaches

and sleep is what some will fear.

The bee has done his work

and death will come tonight.

Though his legacy will protect the queen.

The swallows are over the ocean

destined to follow the sun,

they are a year older

and the wet summer has taken its toll

the ocean will be grave to some.

The old man who now wears his scarf

reflects on another summer gone,

memories of youth grow distant

and his love for her lingers on.

In the city the face of humanity is blind

for they have forgotten natures laws.

Their life of work and mortgage pressure

will bleed the soul on corporate mill.

The mandatory tie is a noose

the alarm clock the wake of despair

and the rain will greet the morning rush,

dripping its sorrow on bowler hats

that feed on the drones they cover.

The autumn years will find them mute

for release from work will kill.

Life outside will be a stranger

the ant has lost his way

and up above the clock ticks on

into uncertainty and fear.

The blanket of winter has come for payment

the cold will take the weak,

But nature will hide her treasure

for hope is buried from icy grasp

The spring will heal the losses

and the rose will rise again,

her beauty will frame tomorrow.

And those who wish to look

those who admire her beauty

will flourish in her fragrance.

Their essence will join this chorus of life

the cries of the new born will fill the earth

for the circle of life is complete.

And these corrupted cities

will look away for the markets are open

feeding a mirage of wealth.

Like the magpie for shiny things

always wanting more.

Death will come in comfort things

like cigarettes and alcohol.

though pockets of gold will not follow

for heaven was lost in yesterdays gamble.

And the ants will rush for one more day

for all will be forgotten in time.

Except for the Rose

her nature cannot be bought

and she will be with us

To the end of time.





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