spring is for endings.

fall for new things,

winter for growth; but spring

is death and delirium.

a birth in fall, truth acknowledged;

winter brings new hopes, new knowledge

new year, new resolutions.

but spring brings only dissolution,

broken hearts, empty words.

summer, retreating like migrant birds:

a chance to maybe plan anew,

a hope for dreams to yet come true,

to mend your heart, repair your soul.

but spring has left you never-whole.

another scar, a missing arm

from one you never fathomed harm.

such wounds cut deep, may never heal

and leave you unable to feel

anything

but aching

for the end

to the aching.

spring is for endings

just not that one.