Refraction.

Seasons.

The cold has set in,
And the days grow ever shorter.
I speak not of the world around me,
But the mind within this body.
When I view it as though it is not mine,
It is easy to see that my sickness
Is cyclical:
There is the springtime, where the days
Grow longer, and hope begins to grow,
And then the summer,
Where all is warm and the sunlight
Is plentiful.
Autumn sees the days shorten once more,
The wind turning cold.
I look to the beauty in the colours
Of the dying leaves,
And brace myself for the storm.
Winter always comes too soon -
Whilst I know it's coming,
No level of preparation is enough,
And I soon find myself sat on the floor,
Using gauze after gauze
To staunch the flow of my own blood.
Each season has its challenges:
The springtime is when it rains,
My skin burns beneath the summer sun,
Autumn establishes the next grim prophecy,
And winter is when I weep.
Alas, the spring rain clears the sky of clouds,
Sustaining the ecosystem below,
And the summer sunshine feels so pleasant
Upon my weakened body.
Autumn is a time of beauty and wonder,
And the Winter...
Each one that I survive shows that I'm strong.
A good fight is simply one
That you can walk away from.
This cycle is nature's design, and I know better
Than to interfere:
Instead, I remember that I cannot control
The sky, the earth, the winds, nor the clouds:
I cannot call for an infinite summer,
But I can continue to learn how to survive
Just as I am.