Oh September

I found your brutal heart

With its endless winds of an early winter.

Oh how I hate you

From that September of the fateful year of 2009

To all the Septembers until you and I meet once again Merry

In an otherwise empty and indifferent room

Where there are no score keepers

With their pointing fingers,

(Bowed

A Judge’s finger really)

  and ever present image

Which take the form of the tombs for everyone not so crooked themselves.

If you can own a judge in housing court

For the right price

Or the right position

Then why can’t you own the score keepers as well?

Are our worn souls

Those of us faithful losers

Really worth so much that they can’t be forgotten?

Oh Merry maybe I just should be angry with you

Leaving no letter behind

Or an explanation of why all your tomorrows have been recalled.

Didn’t you know we could have danced

Like children in all our ruins.

Was it just another job?

Then how could it have been so brutal?

And those lights you turned off

Were not only to a natural home

But to your village as well.

Your avenues have become vacant.

And your cars have all stopped.

Even those who lived there are now evicted.

Your city has become a ghost town

In September’s white out.

And all the score keepers have called the game

Indifferent to the cheated soul that still stands

Abandoned in your vacant streets,

And loveless like a house cat looking out the window

On to a world it knows it will never be a part of again.

Who rings in your absence?