I miss the summer.The cool breeze that would blowThe memories of running and screamingChasing that sense of joy.I miss the summer.The sense of freedom that it broughtLike the world was mine to conquer...for three months at leastThe inescapable heat that never leftRefuge always sought out by those who couldn't bear it.I miss the summer.The times of pure joy and relaxationAll the day dreams that had meaningAnd all of the brain freezes from ice creamI miss the summer.I miss being a child.I miss being able to run around and not have to worry about the consequences.
Down fell the snow-Each flake falling with grace-Her hair stood out like a flame-Her smile causes the cold to melt away-She dances, softly pounding the ground below-The feeling of tranquility she creates-Her eyes the color of Destin's waters, she may be calm but never tamed-Her dance resumes and all sound fades away-An endless show-A few steps misplaced-A new pace of song, a stumble, yet she recovers all the same-The snow stops, the lights fade, there's an applause and that's the end of an infinite play-
"Reach for the stars" -A phrase used to provide a sense of determination -Used to provide hope -A hope to escape society's iron grip --But I'm tired of reaching -I'm tired of reaching towards a sky that doesn't seem to want me -My arms are tired --My heart is tired --I don't know if I can reach for much longer -Will I fall to the ground like Lucifer fell from Heaven --Or will I reach to touch the stars?
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!Angels -- twice descendingReimbursed my store --Burglar! Banker -- Father!I am poor once more!
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shouldersBut I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;I afflict my own destinyAnd don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.I’ve made peace with God on my lossesAnd agreed with him on the epitaphsThat should be written about my senseless wars.