Yet another frigid November has found this place
Inconsiderately crawls from the shadows
In a perfect world autumn leaves would fall daily
Instead...this shallow frost attacks that gentle sun
And everywhere darkness chases out those remnants of life
Every year those lonely, barren trees mock me...
I'm a wasteland...

Nothing can be frightening outside of the tundra
The worst passes quickly enough but the good never comes back around
Each frosty breath lingers; grows stale to remind us
Growth is mere mythology in truth
Seasons of change just bring back that despair
I wish people could break free of their circles..
Their cyclical "growth"...that quest for relief
It doesn't exist...

Am I different than yesterday?
The wounds within incessantly ache
That derelict heart skipped those same beats
Burdens of the past bind this soul to the grave
Only the foolish allow the *******
Until a point...  

I'll call this a dissertation although it's a poem.
Days punctuate this essay of the world without meaning
Trivial thoughts on humanity or lack thereof.
The world's deceit is clear without an ignorant lens.