What is season without cause?
And what  then is life without love?
To say seasons come and go,
would it mean love comes and go?
I am at a crossroad,
my love hangs in the balance,
my life in question.
Why am I who I am?
Am I a seasonal blast,
that comes and goes?
To say the least, what purpose do I serve?
I am burning, inside and out,
longing for immortality.
My bones are souless,
cringing for rest,
my soul weightless
with pounds of over-shaped flesh
I longed for slumber,
beautiful and dreamless
Life is a painful dream,
love a ceaseless nightmare.
The cycle of life makes
love an endless season,
it seems the purpose of life
has endless reasons.
Painful nightmares and ceaseless dreams,
it comes and goes as it pleases,
Leaving in its wake, a tide of emotions.