color us bleak

color us bleak like the icy tentacles of a wintry
bough
the yesteryear wrinkles upon tomorrow
the today wrinkles upon our faces
subzero clouds with beards like old men that pour forgetfullness
color us forgotten like last season’s leaves
that as we now grow old give life to new generations
yesteryear’s generations upon tomorrow
yesteryear’s seasons upon us
color us fools
our screams in the wind are worth less than helicopters spiraling down from the autumned
bough
and our stretched, angry faces are less different than ice crystals that come by the thousands
color us gone for each triumph lay buried and each testament lines the forest floor
‘neath oceans of Jack Frost’s blankets
and the wind wisps away
frozen feelings in time
and the wind blows away
icicle words
and the rabbit burrows
‘neath forgotten civilizations