Bleeding of hearts on the coldest of winter days, leaving the snow blood red. sitting on the porch, insanely loud yet dead silent is the blinding white sights. Watching cardinals, and reminiscing of the past. None with the world and one with the cold, Id like to sit here until children grow old. Maybe I'm crazy or maybe I'm blind, the first sign of sting is chirp from behind.Still sitting, still dreaming, still thinking as the suns brightly gleaming. The air is so clean, the peace so serene, but where there is war, there is no peace. Just a small child's scream. This a great thought in a mind full of rot, how spontaneous an occasion to me. So I think and I ponder as I wake and slowly wander on to the green groomed fields. Yet its still just a dream, no sunshine for me, as I wake to hot rainy day. The bright yellow orb to moisture absorb, and my skin it carelessly burn away. Like a torch I ignite, watching young birds take flight, while my serenity is fading to gray. Blazing day and a blackest night, new worlds in sight, in tongues i recite, and sleeping despite my inactive days. Trees on fire and leaves raining down, warm spirits are withdrawing, bitter cold and wind whispers calling. New moon to blood moon, wolves howling, all Hallows eve and black cats are prowling. A season for death, for everything is dying, and a time for great sorrow for everyone is crying. Almost a year of spirits that persist, the voices that which insist, against my mind that resists. Just sitting, the fields ahead ablaze, and death is rampant for no live stock left to graze. Just sitting here. For me, these seasons will never change, never phase. All is again quiet, apart from the great white rain. All is frozen, no heat to gain. And still, I watch the same cardinal, a streak of red against the blinding white and infinitely deafening silence. I realize the small phoenix is my soul, flying across my blank stare. So here I am and here I will stay. forever seasons passing