Spring Melancholy

It's first of March, the becoming of life

March in bloom, with green and flowers ripe

A slow metamorphosis of nature and soul

Dying and living and the meeting of it all

Does spring come everywhere and all the same?

Does light come bouncing through every lone lane?

Do flowers bloom from scorched dried earth

When no seed was planted for no rebirth?

Does poisoned water move with sound

If slumped & tied in mud to the ground?

My leaves are all rusty, my trees are naked

I'm not in time with the season's ticket

I have no flower stamps, no place in the sun

Just dry leaves and feelings to burn

Does spring come everywhere and all the same?

Like this dark forgotten place with no name?