Poetry

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The frost blankets
all the trees, the vines, the fruits, and the flowers.
Yet they do not gleam.
The pond, frozen over, does not shine.
The sun has gone.
There is only gray sky.
I bundle warm, and I go to see
the special seed nestled carefully.
I breathe in deep.
I rest in it.
The essence turns my cheeks a merry pink.
Laughter, like silk, slips from my lips.

If only.

But then I look up and I see again
The dark gray sky up above my head
I close my eyes, I hate to see.
If only it was ablaze, invigorating.
If only the ground would bear its fruit
Why do the souls of the flowers depart?
I despise the death, it is all I see.
What can I do when it all surrounds me?
In the land of ‘If Only’, I would rather be
where he vivifies the dead in me.

Forget the rest.
Forget the rest.

If only, if only, if only…

And the masquerade begins.

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