This weariness fills me
that like the Winter chill.
I want the warmth, Aye, but it is still winter is it not?
How I have loathed the early warmth of Spring,
too soon, not meant to come so soon!
Winter must finish it's course,
and now that it is almost April.
The cold has returned and I despise it,
despise this abnormal intervention of the seasons.
I loathe it because I fear it, it's unnaturalness.

And I feel sickly, alone in this fear,
this horrible dread that events will turn to chaos.
That I may not be around long enough
to enjoy all that I love and long for.
This emptiness lingers
like I am waiting for inevitable fate,
so I feel wasted.
That all I do is momentary.
The future is nothing,
a waste.

[March 17th, 2005]