Opus of the Seasons (Original Poetry)

_{Image by Ioannis Ioannidis from Pixabay}

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When spring breaks,
clouds cling to azure sky,
gulls cry and traffic noises
pry me from sleep.
I feel weak with elation,
swollen with impressions,
freed from winter’s
Acheronian introspection.

Joy released in breath,
in the death of a sigh.

Summer’s opus builds,
a song without words,
bubbling, sizzling,
smouldering like magma,
alive, and elemental,
desperate yet uplifting
crescendo of transcendental
moments kindled, sparking
and shifting...

Birds fly the nest,
summer rests encased
in autumn's embrace.

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