The days since you
have been more than difficult.
Late summer slides from a
baby blue, cotton balled sky
to deep autumnal hues.
And I,
like my cats,
want to curl up on-
top a small plot of dirt
and rest my weary head.
No more beds of orchestrated,
unparalleled bliss -
but rather the cold, hard reality
of this dismal life.
It's too early to tell
how you transformed me -
or even how you impacted me.
The mind, still cluttered with lust.
Embark upon this setting road,
stricken with a lack of foresight.
Unguided amidst walls of confusion.
It's not fair that sky is endless,
but our joy is not.
s./j. goldner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/price-of-the-season-the/
