Phases And Seasons Poem by Dairedee BurrisLandwehr

May nights surprise me
like sweet words from a stranger, or
harsh ones from a lover.
I am never ready for either. The
warm May days verge on hot - humidity
seeping into the air and cracks of
houses. Just enough to
make you sweat a bit, a prelude
to June and god-awful July, and
unbearable August when the devil
has fun, before the hell he created
freezes over. But May nights
are sweet, and whisper love sonnets
to the trees which shiver in their shame.
(I imagine they would blush if they could) .
I am chilled by the kinky wind, throwing
caution and care into the deceiving night
where there is no hint of the hell that
waits around the corner in June. The
pleasant nights with their charm, and
pure winds and words and passion,
replaced by withered love that dies
on the vine, and
cruel bursts of tempers, which
shock you with their heat.
Rolling storms, forces of nature
that descend upon a once
enchanting scene of love.
I am afraid that life will
eventually follow this doomed cycle, with
harsh words replacing kind ones like
spring blossoms traded for
bristles and thorns. Lush scenery
switched with the barren dryness of
the next season. I am wishing
on this May's stars for an everlasting spring. A
stagnation of movement, as in the
Dog Days of late summer. Where it
seems as if time has stopped; suspending
the season forever. An Indian Summer,
like in an alternate dimension. A moment
lasting forever. A first kiss, a first love,
a long awaited spring or period of
inspiration. You call to your conductor:
All Stops. Bringing your motion
to a standstill. Relish the moment, an
Instant of Infinity where your seasons
never change.