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Member
How Do You Identify?:
Genderqueer Butch
Preferred Pronoun?:
They, them, theirs
Relationship Status:
Owned by a few cats, Loved by one woman, and Looked up to by one child.
Join Date: Sep 2013
Location: 47° 15' 31.4208'' N, 122° 27' 57.5028'' W
Posts: 759
Thanks: 364
Thanked 1,095 Times in 388 Posts
Rep Power: 19759001
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"Seasons"
Scarecrow in the barren field of my memory,
Help me recall the seasons of my life
Tell me of the joys and pleasures of a Youth spent in the embrace of Spring.
Tell me of the innocence, the simplicity in which I surrendered to happiness and innocence abound.
Tell me of when I lived as I loved, I played as fiercely as I prayed and my heart did sing.
Scarecrow in the barren fields of my memory,
Help me recall the seasons of my life
Tell me when the throes of ecstacy and the heat of passion filled my Summer of adolescence
Tell me when she cast that first stone and I first felt my heart break.
Tell me of the loss and painful road I was left to walk and the grief that would become my sole strength, my essence.
Scarecrow in the barren fields of my memory,
Help me recall the seasons of my life
Tell me when I embraced the peaceful Autumn of forgiveness.
Tell me when I learned of a gentle touch and a deeper peace, an eerie calm found in the arms of another lover.
Tell me when I realized I wanted to live and die in the arms of a tranquility like this.
Scarecrow in the barren fields of my memory,
Help me recall the seasons of my life
Tell me when did the Winter sneak in to steal away my memories in it’s cold embrace?
Tell me how much longer in this frail mortal coil shall I have wait?
Tell me when will the Earth claim me back to the warmth of her womb, and collect the final chapter from this member of the human race?
Scarecrow in the barren fields of my memory,
Help me recall the seasons of my life
__________________
Know that The Universe made you in perfection.
And know that there are people out there who recognize this.
-Me
"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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