Seasons Change by C. Fausto Cabrera
I bite into a ripe piece of fruit
Filling me with purpose,
A blinding succulence answering my wonder.
The juices of ecstasy run down my chin
And drip into the void of a empty heart.
I am invincible
Upon request I flew into the heavens
Toward the warmth of the sun
Until the nights chill grew to clip my wings
Plundering me down to grasses no longer green.
I gather myself,
And look to the branch
Where my fruit once hung.
I stand in awe
At the dawns light shining
Through a motley of colored leaves,
A bright sanctuary of stained glass,
A cathedral of divinity,
Built on the faith of Saints,
Glistening hope burning
on the tips of ivory candles.
But even Angels fall.
Promised words gliding serenely about
Collecting in piles brittle and frail.
Once again I am alone.
I tuck my chin
Feeling tapping of trickles
On my head, through my hair
And down my frozen cheeks.
I see the droplets fall into puddles
Merging with the earth
near an exposed root.
It trace it to the gritty trunk,
My heart flutters as I nestle in
Clad in solitude,
Nourished by memories.
I run my fingertip across
the resilience of the rough bark
It is ugly like me.
The brisk season passes like
An old man on a bicycle
That takes all that he can
Hold in his wire basket.
The vibrant leaves bud
And grow by the light of a cheerful sun.
The luscious fruit returns apologetically.
But what I notice most
Is the loyalty of that which never let,
Even when the seasons changed.