I hate this time of year.


The spring is ending,
bending all in it’s way.
Summer on the horizon
with disappointment and regret,
with failure stacked up,
like an organized stack of hay
embedded within my being.

The sorrow, the sorrow,
nothing can be said about it.
It hits while you’re on your way,
towards nothing.

That’s the effect of springtime on me.
I’m going towards the unknown,
or better yet,
the unknown is chasing me.

Fuck you spring,
I sincerely mean that.

2 thoughts on “Spring

  1. Hmm. I left a comment yesterday. I don’t think it posted. . . I see you, too, write from your gut. When I write poetry it’s usually because of an issue and I HAVE to write. Thanks for coming to my writing. It’s the same with my music. It’s all improv and it’s scattered on both my blogs. I play emotions. I don’t play music -it plays me. I’m just the instrument it comes out of.

    So you hate Spring. I hate Winter. I hibernate inside for months I hate it so much I don’t want to know it’s outside my door. I live in PaPa – not by choice. I’m a tropic weather woman so I’m working my way back to the Keys ( before they disappear under water)

    Liked by 1 person

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