Autumn's Song - Poetry - http://maxpages.com/adriano/Autumns

The snow has faded;
The grass has grown grown green.
Winter's waning,
Returned is spring.

I wonder now,
As I wondered then.
How I've come
To be where I've been.

How wistfully
The years parade.
As days are to months
Are to years and then fade.

Then as I looked on
The spring had gone.
Summer'd brought flowers
To blanket my lawn.

So much that I've done.
So much I didn't do.
Vanquished `neath the sun
Liken to the summers' dew.

Could I have been
A bit too brash;
To covet the world
Within my grasp?

Was I too avaricious;
Not kind enough?
Was I malicious;
Too leanient, too tough?

Perhaps too generous
Or too eager to conceed.
Too giving; too caring
Without want or greed.

Could I have given
Of myself too much;
So lost within unselfish confusion
I simply just...lost touch?

Or did I, instead,
Within myself conceal.
All the truths
Of what was real?

Was I selfish
To want, for once, for me,
Happiness Without ampathy?

When I cried,
Was it from pain
Or for the things I've lost
For the things I've gained?

And was I crying;
Or crying out?
Being niave to have faith
In a world of doubt.

Is there no sanctity?
No rhyme, no reason;
No dignity,
Nor odd or even?

Is up really so far from down
That we cannot see
That what is and what was
`Must' somewhere meet?

I am societies child.
How can I be critisized?
Born of science.
Civilized.

Aren't we all so civil?
War. Now there's a civil word.
Mankinds' prime-evil
For which the multitudes must serve.

Who are we anyway?
Too busy talking
To stop and think
In which direction we're walking.

It doesn't seem real.
Reality.
That which we adore or hate
So insistingly.

And as quick as dreams
Summer had flown.
So I awaited
Autumn's song.

How had the seasons
Of my life transpired
To leave me whithered
And so expired?

How could I relate
So all the world would know
The fire that burnt
Within my soul?

Yet, how fast that fire,
Self consumed
Had left me here
In abstract ruin.

Words are cheap.
But, I've no other medium to express
The Anger of my being
And how that anger is suppressed.

Oh yes, and what about evil?

We are all
Intrigued by evil.
The rise and fall of life itself
Is the comedy of evil.

Let's punish our dreams;
Bottle our hopes on shelves.
Abandon the religions of man and thereby
A part of ourselves.

Lost within our own invention,
Muddled by our own conception.
No where to turn but to convention
And all that remains is but deception.

What was evil again?

And quick as dreams
A life had gone
As bitter and cold as
Autumn's song

adrian@iglou.com

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Page Updated Sun Oct 31, 1999 6:23am EST