Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Seasons

The thyme has withered away
the leaves are limp and gray
there is no hint of fragrant spice
embellishing today

nor zest enough to entice
acceptance of the price
required to enjoy a taste
of fabled paradise,

instead we’re gluttons for haste
our dreams can be replaced
just stack them there, out of the way
with all the other waste.

It’s saddening to say
but silence won’t delay
the barrenness of every plot
when time has withered away.

7 comments:

Dimps said...

Hi :)

Very nice!

How can someone with such a talent be an average poet :o)

Keep writing so that I can keep appreciating!
Regards,
Dimple
http://poemshub.blogspot.com

Gerry Boyd said...

pretty well played my friend. but, i wonder why you feel compelled to be structured.

Shirley said...

Hey Bob,

Structure, hmmm. If only everyone could do it as well as you do they'd be doing it! This is awesome!

Shirley

rch said...

Hey Dimps, if I had a book deal for everytime I heard that...

Hi Gerry, I wonder why you feel compelled to ask

Hey Shirley, thanks to you and anyone else that has stuck with me all these years.

kondratas said...

Nice call to action. Carpe Diem. Thanks for sharing!

rch said...

Hey kondratas, thanks for appreciating!

Anonymous Poet said...

I like your take on the passing of time (and thyme), embodied in the "seasons." I've tried my hand at this subject a few times. It's always interesting to see how another approaches the same concept. The symmetry between the first and last lines is particularly smart, I think.