Seasons

Do you know how the leaves turn,
When every vain runs with red,
Runs with a vast spectrum of fire,
And small globules of rain water
Magnify the crimson blood of life?

Like a chameleon the soft tree petals blush
And grow angry, festering with vibrant hues
Turning our green oasis into a burning hell,
Transforming earth into fire and brimstone.

The inferno of molten pits bite the eyes
Until...
Until a chill slowly seeps.

Then slightly, though surely, the passion drains
And the soul quiets into dormancy with the cold.
Dripping thick ruby to the ground, the leaves turn,
Shrug into a crisp death-brown that is swept away by the winds
Till the snow covers the battle wounds
And blankets the corpses with crystal innocence.

The horror of rage is forgotten and the ire is pushed aside
While the world covers itself in flakes of falling powder,
Clothing its pitted body with a cloak of pure white.

After a long expanse of calm nothingness
A gentle healing begins within and cleanses to without.
The hidden world delicately reveals its true self again
As green life permeates its surface.

And nature has undergone its cycle, its circle, its infinity
As the Earth holds fast to bear another gruesome battle
Between itself and continual metamorphosis.