The Creative Cafe
Published in

The Creative Cafe

— a poem of potpourris.

The Four Seasons.

Where I never thought I’d look.

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Unsplash

Maybe the answers that
I’ve so carefully sought,
lies within the ever-constant four.

Where the graceful white falls from
the heavens I’ve been longing,
where brews provide
the soul with such soothing,
Will snow ever succeed to replace
my senses with nothing but frost?
To counter each brumal heart, equally.

Will the brumal found their match
when each neonate petals
have fluently sprout and foster?
Gracefully forming, they began.
Where the darkest void is ruminated
with only the warmest spectrum.

Or will each plight wither in time?
By their own will they become
parched and desiccated —
for their knees were frail, only quivering.
Will the lustrous clouds witness
my senses falling back in place?

Will the puzzle pieces came flooding?
Pouring miles of footpath
alongside each fallen leaves which
greets stranger’s shoulders without minding.
Should I dive too, from the highest height?
Among what once was green in color,
just so the tangle can found their end.

Tell me where should I remain
just to obtain
what once was so close to hold.

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