For agonies I know as real as yours, for all our memories my heart cries for those of the earth, returned to earth thou art, by hands and consummated errors, by a killer without summoned dreams, mashing down cultural transitions and unworn paths who never read the storms. I care.

Of ancients’ calendars
Planners from fixed holy stars
Warned of conditions to come
Bringing immeasurable internment
After the years of the past
And the emperor’s term
Temperance failed
A ruler returns to set fire to dignity
Using the hands of impressionable fools
So he not burn his hands

Of art and pictures
A scenery of summer flowers
And autumn bursts
I am grateful
Of the season’s death
I am grateful for winter’s coloring
And of the rebirth of life
But for all else
I am elated

The sojourn hearts dwell
Resting beneath stone
Knowing sunlight smiles its love

Meanwhile the years list a spirits’ weariness
—visionaries of their blood type cry out
Upon the desolate soil

Exhausted from all the years
Where water is stagnant
And peace won’t be still

Something painful thumped
Upon us
Lodging unyielding
Its gloom did not forbid itself
Instead
It arrived
Unexpected
Unwanted
It was the Reaper adorned in grim
It tore away from us
Shrouded our loving feelings with sorrow
Realigning our happiness
Infusing its grief
Setting our hearts to morn
Forever

The trees are dying
But the fallen leaves will spread externally
Faith will cling in frigid times
Though the world manufactures less merit
And warm hearts and hope are smothered
Inclement minds are risen
While a rebirth waits
And the winter’s indoor frost spreads eternal
Life will battle to triumph