A Spring soul glows and knows firmly its purpose
Since it is anchored in the knowledge that its light is contagious,
the soul floats, free of burdens to weigh it down
A Spring soul soars and ignores any harmful resistance,
escaping the ill-tempered storm by learning to find refuge in the hearts of those
who need its warm and comforting temperament

A Summer soul radiates its emotions with an energetic power
The spark that accompanies this soul tells a riveting tale
of adventurous elegance but does not use words
A Summer soul captures the playful prestige of the sun
with glinting eyes that invite all those who gaze upon it
to experience the blazing emotions with which it surrounds itself

An Autumn soul wavers from shrill heights to profound depths
It is guided by the wind on which it rides, wondering if it is actually travelling
or if it is always falling straight down
An Autumn soul convinces those who may think themselves strangers
to become significant and familiar through the common goal they each carry
to find shelter from the inevitable chill

A Winter soul emanates an ethereal beauty, the frigid ice being capable
of so much more disaster and destruction than it would appear
upon fleeting inspection of the sparkling expanse.
A Winter soul intrigues any passerby to look beyond first glance -
the apparent wasteland of snow and ice - into the depths where it has found
that it only desires to find another whose demons will dance well with theirs.

They say everything happens for a reason
to deny that would be against the very soul;
an act of high treason
Beautiful People do not just appear
we understand the purpose of burdens
being so heavy and near
affliction will come and go,
even though timing can sometimes be unclear
it is important to remember that adversity lingers
to strengthen us throughout each and every season

This heart can only be rejected and burned so many times and still allow itself to open - this heart is not as strong as some might think. Hearts don't handle stress or pain, they just build walls so that people have a difficult time getting in.

This heart might believe that whoever is patient enough to find a way around the walls will treat it well upon arrival since it took so much time and strategy, but the heart has mistaken perseverance for stubbornness.

This heart might suppose that whoever is brave enough to scale the walls will be willing to serve as a protector since it is not courageous enough to face the darkness itself, but the heart has mistaken valor for recklessness.

This heart might hope that whoever is strong enough to break through the walls will be able to fight the tumultuous war raging within so that it may obtain some rest, but the heart has mistaken fortitude for belligerence.

This heart must build walls in part, of course, to keep careless strangers from strolling in and wreaking havoc, but most importantly to protect others from itself by trapping the whispers and shadows inside the walls. While it will always dream of The One who will conquer the walls and stay to provide light and warmth, it has decided that the world would hurt less if people stopped trying to love the broken hearts such as itself.

Another Saturday evening that I wish I could leave my house and spend time around others
who have crafted intricate masks to hide their hurting, but my mask is crumbling
because it has been worn too much lately, so tonight will be spent
curled up in bed.

I can't escape the storm of thoughts and emotions and desires
and expectations and memories and songs and nightmares and
E V E R Y T H I N G
swirling through my head.

The pain swells in my chest, bubbling up but unable to break out
because these demons refuse to let me assign words to them as I try to cry out for help -
so I stop trying and I lie down to let the burden rest on my heart,
heavy like lead.

My attempts to break out of this funk are futile
(this monster knows me worlds better than those who wish good upon me)
and the harder I chase after hope the more
I am filled with dread.

Sometimes it feels like I've gathered together the shreds of my existence
and made great progress in patching together the pieces with the meager tools I've found,
but my tools are coarse and jagged; they leave behind a
blossoming trail of red.

While I labor so diligently to create beauty wherever I wander,
the shadows laugh at my sorry attempts of pursuing happiness when they know full well
that in order to demolish my collection of mismatched tatters all they must do is
keep pulling at the thread.

All I desire is to reach out and connect with others who are more experienced than I
in travelling the road of misery, but have learned to look up and focus on the bright beams of light that break through the clouds instead of letting the rocky path
rip them to shreds.

One time I found another that was hurting deeply, just like me. I wanted to know how he sang of light and peace while at the same time housing those demons within his soul. I tried to learn by befriending him, but my presence was too much. This isn't just my mind playing tricks on me.
I am clingy; it's what he said.