Tomorrow Is October For Me Too Poem by Rhys Owens

I put you in a sacred cup.
Like a child, I whine,
And cry,
For you.
Not old enough to drink:
To see into the eyes of a woman,
Grown, with pain.
What she tells me I cannot understand.

But I can understand well enough.
I am as young in pain as the child
They will not take to drink;
A pain as fresh, as the dead leaves each year,
After a glorious summer seen from the inside out.
Yes, from inside.

Because, I am the summer,
The sea;
The autumn, and its goblin's veil;
I am winter's cozy nook;
And springtime's drip Of Saviour's blood.

I am the child that lies within—
That even memories can't save
From the crooked spine
Of your blindness' path.
And you won't come to play with me.