Sonnets

We are the Changing Seasons

I notice the days are becoming cold
the time when light was warm is a dream past
History says sweat is our bitter labors
and I am thinking how inexplicable
are these memories of a bygone warmth
I see a a darkness and it's full of starts
it suggest a promise beyond my reach
a freedom that I cannot ever breathe

and I notice invisible spaces
landscapes that are so dangerous
in their overabundance in beauty
where I hear the faint sounds of the dead
and upon this plane of humanity
I watch the procession I call my life