Season

A poem about the shadows.

Like seasons change
familiar roads to foreign scenes
this year has made
a stranger out of me

But good or bad
I don’t really know
because I’ll always see
the dark in my soul

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Like many of these short poems, I’ve sat on this one for a while. I thought it was the beginning of a longer writing. I thought that for it to be “ok” I had to bring some kind of redemption to the end of it.

But, I realized a few weeks ago, that this poem didn’t need anything else.

It was complete.