literature

Elegy Of A Lost Season

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Published: Apr 4, 2011

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Literature Text

I am the fall.

Broken in June, buried in August -
haunting September from the boughs of hazel,
where not even the rain could reach me.
How my limbs ached to feel its soothing caress;
but my limbs felt nothing, and I felt nothing.
And the season moved on, without me.

Once, long ago, I was spring,
delicate and pure; fragile as willow seedlings,
believing themselves strong, as they stretch toward the sun -
before the wind breaks their stalks, and they fall
defeated, drained, limp upon the ground;
crushed and forgotten as tears.

But no, I was summer -
when I looked into your eyes for the first time
and forgot to curse the sun.

Tiny beads running down my neck;
hateful, so hateful - ignored, as you ensnared my senses.

You were summer, too
cradled in the branches of oak,
bright enough to burn my eyes and scorch my skin,
but never close enough to touch.

Until in your arms, I became summer,
and the sun could not outshine us.

But now I am winter -
numb and cold, faded, stripped and desolate;
a shivering elder, aching beneath the weight of snow
that cracks my frail bones, and breaks my brittle spirit.

Where is the spring
I once held in my grasp?
Have you drifted away
like the airy scent of honeysuckle
carried on the wind ?

Summer, were you broken when you broke me?
When you tried to revive me, and failed?

Fall, where have you gone?
Have you fallen with me?
You were my refuge once,
but now you have abandoned me, too
and I am exposed and engulfed, all at once.

And what of winter?
I loved you, once;
all those years spent hiding in your shadows
have washed away my color, 'til I am withered, monochrome -
a frozen wasteland to put your efforts to shame.

I am lost in winter,
submerged beneath the ice;
and every season now is hoarfrost
I long to embrace, as it escapes my touch and fades before my eyes.

I am not even winter.
Time cannot hold me.
I am slipping, ever slipping, from the seasons.
I am never.

Written for the

Four Seasons In One Day contest.

Submitted to the

prompt: Define Yourself.

So…I’ve written free verse, but I have no idea how to employ those fancy text alterations you free-verse pros are so good with. Too bad, because I think this piece could really benefit from it. Ah,well.

This is really stream-of consciousness. As such, it has no rhythm whatsoever. Which is too bad, since I’m a big believer in rhythm. And yet, somehow, I still like it. It’s not as polished or as structured as my usual stuff, but I’ve heard there’s a benefit to work that is raw so, why not? It’s not like it’s not full of my usual imagery and metaphor and all. Let me know what you think. I’m highly curious.

By the way, it’s utterly buried in metaphor, but this is probably the closest I’ve gotten to writing about my injury in poem-form. I have to give credit to ~scarletbird and her piece "Searching For The Sun" which so reminded me of my own summer nightmare that I was inspired to try to write about it. She’s an inspiring one - you should go read her work and be inspired.

Obviously it's very personal, but I really hope it still makes sense to other people.

*I've finally found an image to illustrate this with! It's called "Summer Moved On", which fits my situation perfectly. Also, it has a tower in the background. In the weeks leading up to my accident, I was giving lots of tarot readings and The Tower card kept coming up for me, and I even dreamed about a tower. So I connect very deeply with the image.

Also, please read ~scarletbird's piece:

Searching for the SunI.

The day everything ended, she was standing in a parking lot, weary from a long day of departures and destinations, staring up at the sky. Clouds strolled west, their armfuls of grey dripping out of their grasp and spattering onto the asphalt, onto her upturned face. They rolled and crashed into one another, piling up high in the stratosphere like mountains of cottony stone. Once, they had been at war, and their arguments had sliced across the countryside with the recklessness of a summer fire. Now, though, something had calmed them. Perhaps they were tired from their travel like her, or perhaps it was the sun, gently wedging them apart wi

A sequel, of sorts, to my poem is here:

Daylight ForsakenDo you remember when Aurora
invoked dawn in the sky above us?
How we watched her colors spread
above the highway, the gas station - across the fields,
painting reality in vivid splendor
as we traversed its mundane streets
bathed in the frail whispers of possibility?

We disappeared into the trees
where we spilled our secrets,
let them echo in the early morning stillness
of the orchards; a murmured resonance
played to the tempo of our heartbeats.
We didn't even care when reality invaded
[in the form of an angry farmer]
and shooed us back into its clutches;
it could not break the spell.

Or the night we lost hours
in each others' eyes,
[you kn

I referenced the Celtic Tree Alphabet in my choice of trees for each season. If you want to know more about that to see why I chose the ones I did, you can go here [link]
And here [link]

Don’t worry guys, I haven’t forsaken my love of rhyming poetry. (NEVER!) I’m working on one currently.

Comments, questions, critique etc. - all worshiped.