Wall

This year has presented itself like a wall

On which to hit my head repeatedly

Until I start to see differently

Until I hear  a different frequency 

For the music of the falling leaves

Paying tribute through their death

To the falling winter.

Their dance started in sweetness 

Only to turn into an angry small tornado

Trying to clean the streets of settling dust

Which makes it so hard to swallow the present.

Luckily blue bird and jays still sing the same

Youthful  song and want to be heard

Through summer and winter

Thus letting their joy flow through the cracks

Like light breaking the soul free

From its newly acknowledged prison 

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