Seasoned Changes

by retrodiction

What it is, is raw with nerves
Exposed it aches
With yearning
Grows sour hour by hour such power
This feeling —


Stop. Halt. Jerk.
I command!
No, it does not work,
Notwithstanding my demand.

See now, how it affects me.
My bundle of nerves pinned to your sleeves,
Along with you it leaves.
Like leaves, turn yellow while summer leaves.
Fall to my death come autumn.
My death, if beautiful or wise,
Found only in the mind of my receiver.
I am parched.
What i would give for my life giver.

Chilled to my bones come winter.
No roots no trees.
The bells of heaven, they ring.
I might not live
To see flowers bloom in spring.

But rebirth I must, and
Thaw again.
For in every summer
My bundle of nerves remember
Your sleeves.