time sifts out voices
cycles through ages
Summer is swift
and I could give into my head
the dread exists
a storm hangs as the grass ceases
turns brown
under winter’s thumb
I dig out paints
head for the woods
with a cape draped over my arm.
There will be less flying
with dragon-winged beasts taking heed
their last buzz wakes me
to capture on canvas
eternity.
We possessed breath
yet missed the purpose of earth.
seasons: a poetic journey 