The Seasons Within Us

I. Spring — The Becoming

I was born in the hush of thawing earth,

Where green dreams pushed through frozen mirth.

The world was tender, wide, and new,

And every petal felt like truth.

Hope hung like dew on morning’s breath,

Life spilled in colors, dodging death.

The air was full of songs not sung,

And every breeze declared me young.

I reached for sky with roots unsure,

Believing light could make me pure.

Mistakes were seeds, and youth was rain,

And I would bloom despite the pain.

II. Summer — The Fire and the Climb

Then came the heat—bold, wild, and bright,

A stretch of days that burned with light.

Desire bloomed in untamed form,

A reckless sun, a coming storm.

I chased the wind, I touched the flame,

I called each triumph by my name.

But in my chase, I failed to see

That joy, like fruit, must ripen free.

Love grew like vines on every wall,

Some thick with sweetness, some to fall.

I drank the days like ripened wine,

And thought that summer was all mine.

But summer teaches: even fire

Can burn the roots of one’s desire.

And all that blooms will one day fade,

No matter how the garden’s laid.

III. Autumn — The Turning Inward

And then the hush of harvest came,

A golden grief I could not name.

The trees undressed with quiet grace,

And time showed lines across my face.

I learned that beauty also sheds,

That even joy has turning heads.

That all we give returns as ghost,

And time will take what we love most.

Yet in the falling, I found peace—

The letting go, the soul’s release.

The blaze of red, the scent of air,

The whispered truth: all things prepare.

I counted losses like the leaves,

And gathered them with quiet sleeves.

Some dreams I’d pressed in books of old,

Some love left out to face the cold.

But still I smiled through dusk and smoke,

For autumn wraps in velvet cloak.

It teaches hearts to stand alone,

To find their fire in fading tone.

IV. Winter — The Holding On

The world grew still with silver breath,

A lullaby of quiet death.

The soil slept deep, the sky turned pale,

And memories fell like powdered hail.

I wore my solitude like wool,

And walked through fields once bright and full.

No longer seeking bloom or praise,

But listening for the inward blaze.

For winter, too, has gifts to give:

The strength to lose and still to live.

The grace to sit with empty hands,

To understand, not just demand.

I watched the stars blink cold and far,

And learned to love who we truly are—

Not in the rush, but in the rest,

Not at our best, but still, still blessed.

And though the world seemed bare, asleep,

Life stirred beneath the roots so deep.

For winter does not mean the end,

It is the breath before we mend.

V. The Circle — The Forever Becoming

And now I see with softened eyes,

That time is not a line, but skies.

That we are seasons, flesh and soul,

Forever breaking, becoming whole.

Spring still hums within my chest,

Though summer days have left their nest.

Autumn colors haunt my gaze,

And winter stills my restless haze.

We are not one, but all in time—

The morning's laugh, the twilight's rhyme.

The child, the lover, and the sage,

All written on one turning page.

So let me bloom when blooming calls,

Let me rise and let me fall.

Let me lose and let me find,

Let me age and leave behind.

And when the cold wind comes again,

Let me meet it not with pain—

But with the knowing: life will spin,

And spring will rise from deep within.