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The Coloring of These Spells

Updated on April 1, 2017

The Seasons all laughed at me
for succumbing into drowsiness,
entertaining lazed reflections
Apathy, it seemed was best earned

Hope was their biggest painter
Inspiration, their only ventriloquist
chasing after, my pockets full of false souvenirs
while everyone followed me with
their tongues as mute as their eyes.

The Muses sang with me
carrying me aloft and then wept for me
as they died spent at my hands


The Seasons all welcomed me now
my new shoes are stronger
all the great cities and trade
colorful flags and rich wine

Pride was their new hatter
Conceit, their reinstated teacher
embracing dutifully; my halls full of
people, music and perfume -
beauty can only be expressed through immersion

endless echoes can grow so deafening
the grandiose farce of hedonism;
glittering palaces of ice built
to melt at the right time


The Seasons all assumed for me
but the invisible silence was sighted
The fresh air breathing rejected leaves
somehow made me doubt

Perjury was their lawyer
Justification, the lottery tickets
evading, I found Truth - the voiceless singer
whose cold awful eyes danced with
everyone at the masquerade balls

a petty world quietly disguising shrouds
where liars played detectives
for the blind watching comfortably


The Seasons all bowed to me now
the shores erase footprints and
the gulls sing of accepting
eyes so drawn to feast on fragility

Bitterness and its entourage,
were their self-proclaimed counselors
melancholy was their best confectioner,
yielding in;
my story became everyone’s favorite bard
such keen and pietistic ears they offered

addiction and escapism – so loyally numb
yet left terrible scars in the breeze
when I looked back with distaste


The Seasons – I abandoned them all
redundant themes on the great stage,
feeding upon the inherently biddable,
solely weaved to sustain our need to belong;
yet they sing us and paint our portraits

the lights in us are aching in silence
awaiting the mortal end of our inks
go ahead – take another look
at what we have written

when the penny drops
and all is frozen in the middle of a chaos
bent over our prismatic and dying sparks
this is life itself, we realize
where everybody and nobody dies.



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    • whonunuwho profile image

      whonunuwho 8 months ago from United States

      Your work is so poignant and emotionally in tune. I enjoyed reading this very much. Blessings to you my friend. whonu