Solstice shall mark the end, natural time,
as turning seasons march to bitter end.
In death's decay, nature shall rest her soul
from gentle grind of life's ever mindful ways
In sleep, would rest the ones who can, coma
of darkened grace befits nature's practice of sleep.
Through quiet times of winter's slow renewal,
hibernates dark into full light of spring.
The blankets cover Mother's fertile ground
as snow's shallow grave covers growing change
of death to life in passing, crosses over.
Through death's so callous grip shall come my hope,
that newest life shall spring from nature's breast
from loving milk comes beauty once again
to wander newborn lands of gentle spring.
In winter's dreams there is a tomorrow.
A contest entry
- AP 2008: Become Published by B Chandler.
2000 points, ended August 3, 2008, 38 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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this mirror of life against nature is one thats made for it. The seasons mirror of a day or a life time, always moving, always turning just as the world we live in.. Well done
Cyber Artist
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Thank you for the great comment!
This is a new, prose style for me. I hope I have become more descriptive.
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To be honest, I do hope you return to finish this then perhaps, a more proper commentary will be give
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Hi! Death's grip is finished,
thanks for the reminder. -
Almost done!
Maybe, minor editing. Thanks for the reminder. Sorry, that I got lost.
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