In The Arms Of Seasonal Solitude

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 11, 2008

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Submitted: May 11, 2008



I sit in a bed of daffodils
Watching their heads bob up and down,
In the gentle breeze of spring
Exquisite nature is all around.

But there is no peace here
For Spring awakes the humans you see,
Makes them hurry along and rush around
And that just makes me want to retreat.

I sit in a bed of snowdrops
How I wish the snow were still around,
To kill these pretty pictures
And remove the people from the town.

People just spoil the natural beauty
We were natural once, a long time ago,
But we commercialised our planet
And rearranged the globe.

How I love to sit in beds of crocuses and tulips
Amidst the hazy sky,
But there be no peace to be found
With all the passers by.

Summertime and I am with the roses
Though cannot escape the thought of true love,
In a midsummer night’s dream
Just the thought of it is not enough.

Shining happy people
Can get too much this time of year,
I wish the sun would just explode
And make them disappear.

Humans with their carnal urges
Let the lust begin,
Buzzing around like busy bees
Temptation sucks them in.

But I am alone as I’ve always been
The beds are barren beneath the soil,
If you look too closely friend
You’ll see the troubled heart of Coil.

The sweet and sickly, thick fresh mud
Stimulates my sense of Mother Earth,
But oh, I long for Winter’s deathly kiss
When at last there’ll be no birth!

I can hear the treetops rustling
Shaking their heavy heads,
Preparing for the Autumn
When they’ll decorate these pretty beds.

With oranges and yellows
Reds and browns galore,
Crinkly sounds of crushing leaves
Beneath the feet that walk.

Nay, Winter will not be so jealous
For beauty be there too,
There’s freedom in its bitter bite
For it means nobody walks along with you.

People are tucked away in their little cottages
Beside the flaming fire,
Comforted with wine and nuts
Yule times favourite desire.

Peace be in those solemn walks
In woods where they don’t tread,
Peace lies in the big Oak tree
And Freedom in the empty bed.

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