Flavours of Spring (-1): [Winter's After-Taste]

Fictitious Chronicle - Freely Composed.

[Winter's After-Taste] 

"Even Spring comes late in the season, 

Being engulfed by Winter, and held down by chores, 

Haven't cleaned up your house yet, I see, 

But this is a reminder and nothing more. 

Alas, your sun arises like a beacon, 

Toppling the mountains and, covering the shores, 

Only with a steady rate, I see, 

But this is a reminder and nothing more... 

Your seasons do come as they flee, 

In the end, who would remember, But me?

Only the ill need my remedies,

And only the late need an apology."

- A wandering Medic. 

... 

"Spring only comes after the leaves have fallen, 

When the houses are lit and the trees are bare. 

Your light treads like a noble maiden, 

Unwilling to take us peasants into care. 

And what day do you intend to come knocking? 

After Winter has consumed or when Life has stopped breathing? 

Incantations there, I hear you barking, 

When your warmth takes days to reach the remnants of the living. 

What point is there in praying to falsehood, 

When it brings not confidence but pain? 

Who more must there am I to lose, 

Until you deliver my promised gains? 

In the end, there exists only Winter, 

And under her whims, we whimper..." 

- A groaning peasant. 

... 

"Your Dawn has arrived

But Her Moon and Stars linger

And I wonder why..." 

- A classy Chairman.

...

"At Dawn, I struck my string and fished your blessings,

The plentiful fishes, you have returned to me.

This ocean of fishes, I am grateful to you for my besting,

But forget not what you have stolen from me.

This, my livelihood, depends on you Seasons,

But when I am most needy, you had rejected my calls,

This is no grudge, but a dislike with reasons,

For you had abandoned me, leading me to this downfall.

You left us with floods after your fleeting time,

Parting me with my family at an hour so late.

You promised us gold and paid us with dimes,

Impoverishing my lands and what I ate. 

Now my home is infested with barnacles,

On the walls, they ate my family portraits,

Now living itself is a spectacle,

With your unreaching Sun beats me with its daze.

So after your deed, come no more!

For you are the reason I am this poor..."

- An impoverished Fisherman.

...

"What is taking you so long, my Spring?

Have your legs been worn out by fate?

Just this once, I wish to hear you sing,

But why must you be coming so late?

All the visitors have left me be,

Alone in here, the cold creeps me.

I have eyes that no longer can see,

Please if you heed me, do love me.

Your songs, your kisses in the breezes,

Each I embraced and treasured with affection,

Though I had thought of them more than teases,

In every moment I felt your dejection. 

Now when wrinkles have caught up to me,

I still wish to hear your whimpers.

Please, let this one be for me,

So I know my obsession is not another fever.

So if you may, come weep at my deathbed,

For I have finally accepted this, as my casket."

- A sleeping Woman.

...

Goes, she the Season of Failure,

Comes, you the new disappointment,

She, an empathetic admirer,

You, the purse and her payment. 

May the observers bear and see,

The welcoming you have, for me.

- Leon / Stu. T.H. (March 22~25, 2024)

Author's Note

What queer and unusual season this recent. A Pseudo-Summer and Half-Spring.

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Tremendous imagery. You make it come alive.

[Stu. T.H.]

Thank you for your visit, author Thomas W Case. I hope it was as a satisfying read for you as I wanted to make it to be.

[Writergurl]

When it brings not confidence but pain?
Who more must there am I to lose,
Until you deliver my promised gains?

I love these lines here, This is intriguing really and nicely written

[Stu. T.H.]

Thank you for your visit, author Writergurl. I hope you are faring well in this new season. Have a nice day.
- Leon