Dark November

It's the silence that is killing
This cold November chilling
Nature's beauty with frost, stillness, color but no sound
A wiser woman knows the inner temperature of the soul paints the
Landscape to match their own
A fool discovers the surfeit of despair

This Thanksgiving day bleak, weak, sick, sad, still, quiet reflective
I had not to give the love you sought so you walked out,
And the past knew you were to come
And like a reverberation of all the relationships I've known in the
Past and to come will follow the ripples of that first stone,
I cannot love you in November I loved you all the months through
September, many decades upon each, watching entropy teach me the ways to age.
I make no sound but inside screaming
Nature may be jesting in her seeming
To mock whole the lamentation of all
The secret silent sorrows of each soul

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