Spring Day

It is not what you might expect. Death of winter does not mean instant regeneration. It is the hollow echo of what is to come.

Cacophony of noises, surrounding my skin;
How to describe them, I don't know where to begin.

Wind chimes screaming, haunting cries,
Maybe something, a forgotten lullaby.

Dead leaves crinkling, fervored ruckus;
Voiceless chants, simmering mucus.

Screeching birds, one out of many;
Lonely cries, each worth a penny.

Wind sprites dancing, swirling hair;
Wooshing by, none to share.

Children's cries, soulless and dying,
Atrophy goes on; each minute they're crying.

Motors rumbling, mindless sheep;
Passing by slowly, loosing sleep.

Shivers rising, what can I say?
Winter's dying; such a spring day.

Author's Note

I went out side. Climbed on some rocks. Ran home. Got a note book, and scribbled this down. End of story.
Enjoy.

Reviews

[Vannah]

awww. poor winter :(
I love the choices of words, and I've never thought of it that way.
love it.

[Prateeksha Khot]

Beautiful poem. Nice choice of words which actually paint a realistic picture of the scene.

[Sharkapillar]

Such fantastic imagery, I could place myself into this piece like I had written it myself. The rhyme seemed effortless, the flow was smoother than a waterfall's. Excellent job.
~Blessed Be~