Spring

seasons some and seasons go
calendars lie upon the pages
whose word a man can seldom trust
for fleeting are the Ides of March
marching straight into the heart of June
with hardly a breath between them
time shall conquer time
a lie for all the ages
bad tastes swallowed in your mouth
the breath of life has come and gone
only to in the end begin again
unconcerned with manmade tables
white dots mark the green
the Goddess has donned her crown
as flowers herald Easter’s dawn
where once she slept the Goddess wakes
her perfume is cast upon the air
hiding the smell of death foregone
like bony fingers grasping at straws
praying hands will reach for God
so go the tips of the trees
awash the skies are girt with led
so majestic and so grey
hues cast like moulds upon the heavens
the firmament dressed in heavy metal
the breeze whistles in the wind
and someday it shall roar
the Wild Hunt upon the brow
as the face of God casts off his host
you see the damned rise to the sky
so bold inside the endless grey
promises amid the ocean’s blue
the sweet surrender we long to seize
entreatied by the quickening times
New England sky, my sky
has given me my sight
and what a sight it is
for I have seen the stars in alien skies
I have heard the tumult on the wind
breathed the rotten city stench
and seen the soul of man
withering away like windswept stumps
my hands have dug their foreign soul
and grasped their hearts of stone
whispering prophecies to every year
if only a man should hear
the truth is laid bare like trees in Fall
in hallowed slumber bones may reach for God
bereft from crowns of flowers
ladies in waiting shall don them again
and in the Springtime find their Goddess
so with the Sun we rise again