The Seasons

To hear this poem, .

Dancing in Spring to starry night sighs,
I wonder: Do you have eyes?
Are you a shadow from my past, here to condemn me?
Or merely the reflection of forgotten guilt, here to bury me?

Walking hand in hand in August, when leaves begin to cry,
Is your blood in my heart our final lie?
I'm tired of denying a past deed.
I want to blame someone for my hatred and greed.
But when I feel this will tear me apart,
I remember your blood in my heart.

Praying in Fall, a gun in my hand;
I see an empty place in your bed, such a forbidden land;
Could I change arrogance to humility,
Or is cowardice my only ability.
I seek the grace of ecstasy as your lover;
But in the end, I fear I am a destroyer.
I stare at the cross of my making,
My hands are shaking.

Living in January,
You're making love to me;
We're lost on the road to no place in general.
You cry my name softly, yet your voice is so feral.
The bastard in me is scared,
The man believes that any hate in your love is deserved.
I beg you to tear open my chest and make me shudder;
Reclaim the blood I had chosen to plunder.

Alone with a new heart in Spring; I've started over.
This, is the beginning of a new chapter.
You've gone back to living;
I've stopped grieving.
In the distance, I see the dash of a flame;
It stands as a monument to reclaimed shame.
A lithe new tongue dances with mine;
When I enter a secret tunnel, her dark gray eyes shine.
She says voicelessly: "It's all right, we all have our crimes to hide;
Just never be lost behind false pride."
My tears say: "Sometimes we're good, sometimes we're bad;
Sometimes, I'm always so sad."