The Window of 2012

Status: Finished

The Window of 2012

Status: Finished

The Window of 2012 The Window of 2012

Poem by: steven cooke

Details

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Summary

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

Summary

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

Content

Submitted: January 14, 2013

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Content

Submitted: January 14, 2013

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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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2016 steven cooke. All rights reserved.

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