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
for the end
to the aching.
spring is for endings
just not that one.