You've got to be a collection of seasons
Nothing else falls
Springs
or shines like summer

You have been cold
Not like winter
Cold like media reported deaths
without justice, just destruction

I have hung my head low for you
Like October branches
Given you the pleasure of seeing me fall
Like leaves

Where is the water hole
My tears won’t help Mays flowers grow
Their pedals will wilt
Under the pressure of my confident incapability

Mistake not my expression for hate
You have given me the gift of words
Everyday this month
Tomorrow I will give them back to you silently

It isn't wise to keep things that can't be kept
No one bottles the sun
or wraps the wind
or expects flowers to live after being plucked from the ground

You have made me press pen to paper
Keys to keyboard
To tell the story
Not of how we met but how we prolonged a very necessary  goodbye

The air was crisp and clean and clear,
The huntsman knew his time had come.
He gathered all equipment and gear.
Then shined and polished his gun.
He took a step, his boots polished black.
To his tiny little wife he blew a kiss back
Off, he was, to capture his prized buck.
She waved goodbye wishing him luck.

He got to his post, stood there and waited.
Patiently, with his traps he had baited.
For a time he remained quiet and still.
This kind of game was his kind of thrill.
Lo and behold, with rage and adrenaline
A perfect opportunity made its rise.
He steadied his rifle, an expert marksman.
He shot the young buck between its eyes.

In a moment it was done
And the huntsman had won.
The poor creature had no chance to fight.
It had fallen to the earth
No cry made it's birth
A silent victim in the night.

Time had come for homebound journey,
With the sun setting on both heads.
Only one of them back with family,
The other became family's dread.
The huntsman took his brand new trophy
And hung high the brown skinned creature.
Hand in hand with his wife he stood boldly
"I was the one to end this ******."

I'm still alive.
That's a good thing... *Right?