Damn you, April!

NaPoWriMo day four asks us to write about the cruelest month. Well I'm here to tell you we're in it.


Spring


I'll be damned if it isn't true
that the true sadness in a season
- the cruel root of heartache -
isn't in the dying

but in the Aprils of a life,
when the ground swells and beats.
The year's blood pumping,
sinew stretching bough and leaf

and love unfolds - tenderly -
with all its boundless promise.
Sweeps you up and bids you marvel
oh! It's lovely, oh! It's gorgeous

The prettiest of deceits, for sure.
How soon the Autumn fades
and we forget the slow decay,
the death. Of everything that's good.

Of all that made us brim
and billow; fine false promise.
For who would mourn a death,
if there'd never been a living.