Monday, November 23, 2015

The Seasons Died

  The trees are ever so cold
When the summer sun dies again
  And all that remains is ash
    Ashes of our dying love
      Remain so cold and pure
        As the sun is above
From what lies is such treasure
  And what could've been in
    A dream, alternate reality
      What was left from ash
        Turns a cold ember
In this reality means forever.