This is the time when fireplaces are rekindled with life
as families bathe in the crackling warmth.
Steamy mugs come back in season,
boots take over the concrete.
Yet you rule over this estate with your glacial hands,
smothering your subjects in a heavy white blanket
while snuffing out the kindness of the sun.
You lock us in your grip for an eternity, sucking away our souls
until a miserable husk is left.
Finally able to shed our furry skins
and be more in touch with you.
Feet breaking free of their oppressive cages; windows fly open.
Birds nestle in their homecoming perches,
announcing each morn with a song of praise, whether we like it not.
Yet, you too, will unknowingly torture your adoring crowd.
Hordes of insects will be unleashed upon our hides,
feasting upon our vital fluid.
You'll block our breath with poison petals.
Why have you forsaken us,
True blue skies with no veil to dull its brilliance
shall be the anthem of this time.
We flock to thousands of destinations,
freed from our daily life responsibilities.
Flickering lights float lazily through the twilight atmosphere;
easily captured and made into lanterns.
Even you have a dark side.
Sweltering moisture hangs in the air, restricting our lungs of its basic food.
Rainbow rays pound on naked skin, a ruddy rash breaking out on the surface.
Fevering bodies become comatose.
The wind is nipping at our sun kissed skin as we grow back our furs.
Leaves dress themselves in their seasonal garb,
Crimson, gold, clementine,
their floating deaths are tragically elegant, falling down, down into the void.
Growers gather their crops before the chill tears of heaven drown their products of labor.
Noses can't breathe in your crisp air, for they clog up from your natural spices.
You'll slowly steal away our life giving star, slowly replacing it with bitter darkness.
Tis the time of dying.