Book of One Poetry

The Withering Season

I apologize to my loyal readers.  I have been engrossed in the writing and editing process for my upcoming novel.  So today, I would like to share one of the poems I’ve written for the novel.  I hope you enjoy it!

The Withering Season

Transiting quietly, as we move through the languid arc of time,
Burning loudly, like a ghost, lustrously, the Sun controlling our lives.
Sowing, reaping, harvesting, each moment and hour align,
Passing beyond, and falling contained by the juries of our crimes.

Each season clear by a hidden point and a mark,
Beyond our world, beyond the limits of space and time.
Within this prose, dark equations approximate and skulk,
Revealing the depths of the universe, reluctant and sublime.

 October and November are wholly and fully within,
While September and December are somewhat without.
A time to remember our borders and long forgotten kin,
The Sun bobs and retreats, ignoring our movement about.

 A day, an hour, a minute, a second,
What are we trying to measure and why?
Moments in time, thoughts never mentioned,
Yet the world is mirrored in our eye.

What do you think?

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