Seasons of Mind

When neither the midyears,

crisp flowing breath may be felt,

or its revelations taken part in, 

I find myself pondering expiration. 

As if,

in some vivid fashion

I might be released from

the vessel i am bound within.

As if,

my soul will be capable of filling the space 

surrounding my confinement

and become more than you

or I imagine is possible.

But I pause.

Dragged again to actuality

How true are the teeth

of the fresh cycles grip.

How powerful the force 

we cannot measure by sight. 

How deep is this natural scheme

to slow the mind 

and solidify the fluids around us 

until both are immobile.

Until both are unable to flow in the direction 

that springs fresh life hails from. 

But when this beacon perforates 

both mind and setting, it is realized that

warmer days will come.

Better days will come.