A bitter wind blowing in and
Rearranging everything certain.
And with this descent of
A million leaves have scattered
To mask the familiar.
But in time the winds will be changing--
A fresh wind bringing new
Life to the uncertain.
And with the rise of
A novel Spring
A million leaves will flourish
To paint the unfamiliar.
I can't decide if I like this or not. I'll read it through once and feel like it captures what I'm feeling almost perfectly. Then I'll re-read it and decide that I really ought to give up all attempts at poetry because I only ever disappoint myself. I feel like when I write, I'm always on the very brink of something deeply profound, and yet somehow I've missed the boat completely. Maybe someday I'll come back to it and make some changes. Maybe I won't.
In any case, it seems hopeful. And hope is what I'm clinging to these days.