Poems that may never be heard.

The seasons of poetry.

The seasons of poetry

The switches between life and death

Silence and noise

None and abundance

Monotone and color

They switch like a light

Dark to bright

Poetry is like the seasons

Some days

It's like Winter

The trees are dead

Life is in hibernation

Animals sleep in no sensation

Waiting for the seasons to move

The air is frozen and cold

Waiting for the temperature to rise

The ground is colored in white

A white page

Waiting to change

But the white still stays

Some days

It's like Summer

The water crashes against the sand

Forming white foam

But then the water flows back

Dragging back the stones

Into the depths of the ocean

To sink and fall

Gone

Like the wind

But in Summer

There is no wind

It's just dry and hot

Staying still

While the people

Are filling the streets

Until they spill

It's the opportunity

For people to be surrounded by others

Or for people to be surrounded by no other

Some days

It's like Fall

The leaves switch from green to tangerine

Daylight leaves us earlier

Life starts to leave

We hold on to the last bits of life

The cold starts to come

The temperature begins to fall

A normal day

But with the world a little bit sadder than it was yesterday

Some days

The good days

It's like Spring

Life comes out of hiding

And everything bursts

Flowers

And fruit

Animals

And life

Sometimes

There's rain

When the clouds dump everything onto the streets

Waiting for the world

To collect

Or dance in it

There's so much

It's so bright

It's so beautiful

And just so right

Everything is there

It's always right there

To be drawn

Or written

Or blissed in

Spring is the season

That I love most

Because the poetry

Is so close

Ready to be written down

It's on the tips of my fingers

And the tips of my skin

The tip of the world

And the tip of breathing in

It's filled in the air

And it's filled everywhere

Spring is the days

That I have multiple poems

Written down

Or dancing in my mind

Summer is the days

That I have poetry

That is still and raw

My emotions flow out

And swim in the sea

And then

It leaves

Fall is the days

That I either have none or some

It's those little words

That I write

In between my day

Where I just need to let out

And get rid of all that grey

Winter is the days

When I have nothing

No inspiration

No motivation

It doesn't cloud my mind

Like a virus or plague

It sits back

And watch the world be vague

That's okay

Because those are the days that I don't feel much emotion

I just live life

And wait for something to change

The seasons of poetry

They switch so quickly

But the result

Is beauty