Spring (Seasons #1)


The landscapes awake in a colorful burst as the cold drifts away and releases the earth.

One by one, the first flowers bloom, drenching the fields with an ocean of hues; green, yellow, red, violet and blue.

Joining the chorus are butterflies and bees, in a frenzy of flutters and hums through the trees.

The silken white fur of a hare morphs to brown; while the traveller’s coat follows too with the ground.

The atmosphere fills with the tales of far places, signalling the return of familiar faces.

We feel life as the drops of light that it births; from the ground to the skies through the trees on the Earth.



A tsunami of questions flooded your head,

As you lay tossing and turning in your bed,

“What have I done?” You asked yourself,

“It’s not like another pill would affect my health.”

So here we are now on the building tops,

Drenched in icy grey raindrops,

Staring at all the city lights ’till we are going blind.

You say you wish you had a rope,

Or telescope to give you some sort of hope,

Or helmet to hold the shattered remains of what used to be your mind.

And then the bitter realization sinks in,

“Of all the people I could’ve been, why have I become someone who carves myself and cries?”

Soon all the helmets will detach,

As they see your spinal chord collapse,

The tsunami breaks out of your eyes,

Forever staring and wondering,




We stare at the starways as they flicker out,
When our hope succumbs to life’s bitter fist,
We pray for bluer skies and whiter clouds,
And take a leap of faith across the abyss.

The predators and scavengers may call us cowards,
They’d laugh and leer at our fear of the unknown,
Because though we dream of lands of distant shores,
We’ve never strayed too far from our home.

So you gaze at the peaks that lie ahead,
And hills blanketed with fields of grass and rye,
As you watch a spark of hope take flight,
Painting colours across a sullen sky.

When our searching ends and we drop anchor,
You’d look back at the foreign lands we’d been,
Before eyeing over the azure horizon,
To those brighter worlds we’ve never seen.

And so our stories lived on through a thousand lives,
Be it by quill and ink or yarn and tale,
The future awaits in those new atmospheres,
Of journeys that time will one day avail.