The Bitter End
I... in the sleep of dark autumn, fancy the soft spring of my frivolous youth,
where days rolled on forever, and time never… ever revealed the truth.
Yet now I sit in the gray silence with this house falling unto its disrepair.
As I in stark recollection, feel the bite of the coming winter in the air.
For this frame of mine now groans… its shivers and bemoans…
And it sways with the slightest blow from life and its perpetual wind.
So to me, it is this future, which becomes the ever present that I now see.
One in which the essence of youths soft spring drifts ever so silently out to sea.
Therefore, I see....that it shall never return, or never shall it grace this house again.
For all that remains now, is just a fleeting memory,
which fades faster and faster toward the spectrums dark and bitter end.
J. Allen Wilson © 2005