Winter fades away.
The little death
has come and gone.
Transition comes at last.

The crushing weight of despair
lifts ever so gently
and caresses the bruised
and battered visage
of my existence.
A small shudder echoes
down my spine as
the lover's touch
disfigures my psyche
one last time.

The teardrops have dried
from the shattered dreams of Autumn.
All that remains is a salty residue
on the carcasses of my
murdered dreams.

Agony has nothing more to offer.
All of winter's suffering
has been absorbed.
The horrors of unrestrained
soul-torture have been relegated
to a bourgeois acceptance of
pedestrian discomfort.

Darkness has been embraced.
No longer feared,
no longer shunned.
I have become one
with the darkness.
It is terrified of me.
As Pogo once said,
"We have met the enemy,
and he is us."

I have mourned
the death of my dreams.
I have swept up the shards
of my shattered hopes.
My sentience remains intact.

As the buds of spring
hold the promise of new life,
so also does my continued existence.
I have ingested the toxin of bitterness
injected into my soul, and
transmuted it into grim determination.

Nothing remains now,
but to see what happens next.

Spring in my life.

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