The Death of Summer

You left. You're not gone but you just left me; thus I became Shakespeare's summer flower; sweet to everyone's summer but merely living to die in your wintry summer. I waddle around with my mask of traditional festivity. I've lost all sight of my youthful poetic dreams, the words I jot down are no longer poetry; to call them that, would turn me into a dark-poet. And this scribble would have to assume rhyme, or rhythm and it will flow away... with the ebb tide of these frosty waters. My poetic mind now just a constant mental block. A constant throbbing fullstop. A migraine? A heartache? My summer days are haunted by memories of you The summer sun a daunting reminder that this is going to be yet another day that I can't speak to you, talk at you be with you. This unusually cloudy Jozi weather just symbolic of how rainy my eyes become when all I get to hear is an electronic voice prompting me to leave you a message. My summer ends now. Now? Just at the beginning, where our start meets your end an incomplete cipher gone full-circle. No explanation, no screaming match, no cursing or long telephone calls nor e-mails, nor short text messages not even "a punch" on facebook nor myspace not even mxit Just silence... and questions? Confusion...? What did I do? What have I done? What do I do now? All beauty suddenly seems trivial... just useless, hopeless... The risen sun that once shone beautifully on your russet skin, now seems disheartening; it's set to crimson an infinite plague that comes to remind me of all that I took for granted; Like the picturesque skyline that we spent hours marveling at lying face-up on the park's Mary-Go-Round; Or the fact that even though going around in circles made you bilious you did it just for me...you laid down, and looked up and went around and round in my whirl winds just to see the sky from my warped world's eye view. I took for granted that you waited... You did it for me; because I asked you to... I understand now. But you understanding my sky is also pointless Because my sky is melting raining down on me and burns with the same stagnant intensity of heartburn the same intensity as this melting tar under my bare feet As I walk downtown in hopes that I might just see you again. I'll catch the next flight out to the Middle East in a few days You won't come to say goodbye. Instead, you will stay to walk hand in hand with your newest conquest with lust in summer's wonderland, And my heart under your belt as I look out the plane window and wonder about our summer’s wonderland... There's really no reason for me to compare you to a summer's day Because even though you are, to me, lovelier than the warm wind after the once-was beautiful summer rain licked your majestic chocolate face; our time spent together was always on lease. Now though I see you everyday, everywhere... you're dead...only because I'm dead to you. Now you are just the blank page of a poem I've always wanted to write But my words never seemed worthy. Now I walk around like the last rose of summer, the last Ghost of Christmas present left to bud alone; with my lovely companion faded and gone. I am the face of Nash's "Summer's Last Will and Testament" For all things good about my life have vanished in less than a day; my peace, all bounty, contentment, suddenly crumbled. My earth is hell Because unlike summer when you left these cold walls of autumn's crying leaves Making room for winter's freezing hostile response You didn't leave to reappear the following year.