Hello beautiful souls,
This is the poem called The Cloak of Seasons.
I wear pain like a cloak I cannot lay down,
As linings stitched with winters long endured.
It drops my shoulders in weathered folds,
A garment of stories no one else has heard.
Through crowded days and silent moonlight hours,
It follows me like shadow follows flame.
Sometimes it warms me,
Sometimes it weighs heavy,
Yet still I rise and walk the path the same.
But cloaks are woven of many things,
Not to living skin,
Their clasp may loosen in the light of grace.
One morning soft as dew upon the meadow,
I may unfasten it in a move and tender place.
And there beneath the cloak of sorrows,
My solitude will remember how to breathe,
How wind and sunlight feel upon the spirit when pain no longer asks me not to leave.
