The Seeds of Spring

October, and color has faded,
lost to the season,
lost to your dark mind,

both your friend
and your enemy,
the starving thief of your soul,

always hungry,
blind and lean, a tempter
whose only path is towards

a grey sameness, worse than fog,
but no more powerful,
for somewhere in that darkness

lies the seeds of spring,
already fallen to ground,
and you have only to nourish them,

and listen to the whispers of hope,
buried in the din, telling you,
hang on, the colors return.

they always return.

About this poem

When things are not good, it is always tempting to believe this is how they always will be. But that is a lie.

The picture is from the garden of the woman I love, drained of color to make it fit the poem. In reality, her garden is a magical place, vibrant, even here in October.

Tom