Seasons of Us

By Sylvester Wong

Daffodils in Spring

She speaks of life with bitter aching,

a heaviness that pulls her through her days,

and though the world around her feels like breaking,

she doesn’t see love bloom through spring’s first rays.

She talks of shadows, skies turned black,

of how she’s fading, losing pace,

but he still sees the light that cracks

like daffodils in grace.

Her laughter’s soft, a fleeting sound,

yet in his chest, it lingers there,

a warmth beneath the frozen ground,

a hope they gently share.

She doesn’t know how much she brings,

how in her quiet, something grows.

He’s falling softly, without wings,

like petals when wind blows.

He speaks of life with tender wonder,

of dreams with her beneath the stars,

and as the world around him starts to brighten,

he knows their love was budding in early spring.

Breathtaking Summer

She left along with summer,

took the warmth away with her,

in a distance, I murmured,

“It was fun while it lasted.”

Breathe.

Breathe again.

Please let my mind take reins

of what my heart has failed to attain.

Looking at her distant silhouette

I had hoped she would at least look back,

but she took yet another step

carrying all my love in her haversack.

Breathe.

Breathe again.

Who knew my feelings would have been in vain?

Who knew that a muscle within my ribs could

feel this much pain?

She has gone out of sight

but well within my mind.

Bite my lips, don’t move forward,

don’t let slip, she had said she would rather not be bothered.

Breathe.

Breathe again.

If only I had kept quiet, if only I had feigned.

If only I had just admired, perhaps what we had would

not be strained.

It matters not how much I yearn,

she is gone and will never return.

And if only time could be turned,

I’d have just let my affections burn.

Breathe.

Breathe again.

What we have built will now return to plains,

and I have learned why they have names for hurricanes.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I am begging, please.

Please don’t let what we have ceased.

She left along with summer,

took the warmth away with her,

no longer will seasons matter,

and I wish… I wish we lasted.

By Sylvester Wong