The Seasons Of Our Time

Clouds touch tall mountains

Dark valleys sigh. 

Streams once vibrant

In the drought of seasons die.

The Children of yesterdays laughter

Walk now in the narrows of death.

Their hope is held in the empty hollow of a simple child’s hand.

Holding on…Holding on…Hoping even upon life’s last breath.

The Tree once mighty, the tree once so proud, so tall,

Leans against the wind, clinging on…holding on

Yet he in the silence of the forest will also fall.

Sleep now in silence sayeth the wind…hold fast now the night.

Resurrect, let lie, give up, keep on the good fight.

Oh now the fog effervescent, gaseous without sound creeps in on quiet feet. 

Slipping unnoticed and without sound into dreams.

The days of days have they oh come.

The molting beneath the red sun has begun.

Dream on dead brother, sleep on oh sister of mine.

For the metamorphosis is upon us in the seasons of our time.

J. Allen Wilson © 9/18/2011