Season of the Soul

The way the leaves are plucked
When Summer’s green abates
It’s cruel really
As they go, reddening, blazing
Set aflame, burning their despair
They’re dying in their prime

Crying out in pain
We take delight in our destruction
There’s a beauty in devastation
An attraction to our doom

As we fall to shards and pieces
Our emotions fight the last of reason
And we forget about our souls

In the depths of dark confusion
We are naked to our self-abuses
Then there is that confrontation
The pre-destined battle against human nature
The deepest part of man-kind’s struggle
The time when men must test their mettle

If we are to be proclaimed the victors
We are much better for the effort
And the Autumn leaves in dying graces
Are reminded through the Winter
That when Spring comes to their respective places
We all return to Summer

The End

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