Summer

- The Seasons Of Grief: Chapter II - Poem I -

The Sun spits harsh humidity, unyielding and unkind,

It creates a molten glare, branding the edges of my mind

Cicadas scream like a chorus of spite,

Their fevered hymn stretches deep into the night

The Earth cracks, thirsting for something to be undone,

Parched as my patience beneath a hollowed-out gun

I burn, I rage, I tear at the sky,

But the clouds refuse to break, so I refuse to cry

The rivers run thick, sluggish, and slow,

Combining with the sea, creating a mirror too murky to swallow my woe

The wind cuts deep on sacred rock shores of heat,

My knuckles bleed and show how unshaken I am, how elite

I walk through a mirage of streetlights and drive-in faux knives,

Each stroke a reminder of who never survived

My skin has become blistered and torn,

June’s rainy gloom looms, as I try and stay warm

The world erupts in a cacophony of lights so loud,

July’s trauma is bound to keep my throat dry from the drought

The lake beneath the lighthouse churns reckless and mild,

The tempest inside me groans, abandoned and reviled

The August days stretch long, thick with distain,

They embrace me like phantom embers of a midsummer’s rain

No solace in sunsets, no peace in the waves,

The crests of sunrises echo the voices I failed to save

The night offers little to see, but the stars still shine bright with the lack of city visibility,

They mock the weight I carry through the treachery

They say I’m fire, I’m ruined to the bone,

A Houston storm with no mercy, a fury unknown

The bay waves crash my fluorescent shoreline, slowly consuming the summer,

I look up at the apocalyptic sky, and curse the blood moon that shows me my pent-up anger