Poem: Progressive Seasons in the Change of Thought

Progressive Seasons in the Change of Thought

© 2010

Once upon a Season,

On an Autumn's dusty day,

I sat upon a question

Of my disarray:

If the question of a "why"

Is answered with a "who,"

Then what on this Earth

Am I expected to do?

I sat upon this fact,

With both arms crossed,

And contemplated my acts,

And what they might cost.

Once upon a Season,

On a Winter's cloudy day,

I laid upon a question

Of what others might say:

If the question of a "why"

Is answered with a "well,"

Then where might they take me?

Would they take me to Hell?

I laid upon this outcome,

With both legs crossed,

And bitterly counted the sum,

Finally paying the cost.

Once upon a Season,

On a Springtime's sunny day,

I stood upon a question

Of how the events should play:

If the question of a "why"

Takes place at a "where,"

Then who would act next,

And how would the two compare?

I stood upon this decision,

With both hands solemnly crossed,

And proceeded with great precision,

Having paid the expensive cost.

Once upon a Season,

On a Summer's sweaty day,

I ran upon a question

Of how I must disobey:

If the question of a "why"

Is aimed at a "how,"

Then what should I tell them,

"That was then, this is now"?

I ran upon this idea so strange,

With both fingers crossed,

And decided I am in need of a change,

No matter what it might cost.