:: Summer, to Autumn ::
As the weather shifts from the blazing summer heat,
Into the tepid indifference of the approaching autumn,
The city comes to a standstill; inanimate, silent
At least from the twenty first storey of his hotel room.
He notices the windblown plastic bag that billowed
Against the white sky, rippling like a jellyfish,
The same jellyfish he'd read from Michael Cunningham.
He ruminates about the distance of Autumn
From Spring. And he wonders, on what would it take
To turn the leaves on the trees, in the park under his feet
From green to orange
And then, to nothing.
The passing of time, the strength of the wind
The ignorance of the world at the spinning of the earth
Green to orange, orange to nothing
Does nothing goes back to green?
Or green simply replaces nothing?
A wheel that rolls on an infinite slope, a cycle.
What's with the somewhat sad poetry. Life is good, mate. Fuckin' scream out loud and live it happy before someone comes along to tell you that you have 4 months tops. You got money, a great job, tons of friends, legions of fans, good-looks, family, extended family. I don't have half of what you have and I can still tell myself "Buddy, you're gonna live happy and never be down because goddamn it you only have one shot at it."
I've been reading so many blogs and I'm sick of reading about people who are looking for some excuse or tragedy to find meaning in their lives again. Not saying that you're one of them, but dude, where are your happy posts?
it is not a sad post.