When the willow tree died it faded
corroding to its core in shades of grey,
deserted by the crows who kept it;
new seasons claim what time decays.

The wind sneaks in through my window sill
and I can hear the rhythm of the rain.

A shy draft looms like a visitor
misplaced it roams my way.

Outside I hear the thunder howl
as windswept trees whisper my name,
so I close my eyes to the chill of the moon
pushing blue hues through my glass pane.

"I'm not enough" cried the moon
as she lit up the nights sky
a sliver crescent weeping blue
with eyes that pull in ocean tides

The seasons
teach us change
as fall skies shape
to powdered dust,
descending
into
puddles
drank by the thirsty sun.

In the seasons
I sat lonely
I learned what souls
to call my friend,
exposed by
changing colors
some did blossom
some did end.

Like water I am fluid
taking guidance
from the rain
blending with
the madness
as one movement
we stay sane.
My emotions swim
to deep ends
some days I drown
in shallow waves
suffocated by how lonely
even blue tides don’t
come and stay.