The flowers poke through despite the climate
of watery coldness mixed with humid
air that makes a body want to time it,
that is, the time it takes to turn tumid:
A sadness lingers over siren sounds,
as emotions swell with water and fear;
a new era is upon us, surrounds
us with new grounding as spring hovers near:
There were deaths and rebirths, there were failures
and successes, but loss has held its own
amidst the accumulating measures
taken to keep one's power as one's own:
But there is no control. We all are lost.
We'll be happy again, but at what cost?
urbansonnets 