Summer, autumn, spring, and winter,
These are the cycles of change, the metaphor of time revolution,
As changes occur in their destined fate, the temperament remains,
Forgotten details vanish entirely after a cycle undergoes its phase,
Eventually everything disappears, gone with time.
Seasonal alterations in the atmosphere, every sense tastes different,
The feeling of resentful, lingers as the forgotten matter emerges in visual perception,
A representation of nature: snow that dissolves away, revealing its transformed state,
There was nothing there, but now we see,
What we may been looking forward to, but not as it seems.
Roses with thorns, alluring but somehow prickly,
People's sense of righteousness is nothing varied, encouraging and at the same time with ulterior motives,
The honesty, shared between souls are getting intertwined in the string of conspiracy,
These strings that cross paths are unexpectedly tangled,
Destiny is disturbed and emotions are spilled.
Wheel of the world, with ups and downs opposites each others nature,
As one rose to perfection, the bottom one being trampled in the path,
Surface experiencing friction, whatever the damages brings to it,
It's no different with seasonal changes, everything will eventually has its own timeline of development,
Where every sensation starts, peaks, and finally resides.
People may see every seasons with different favours,
Where summer might seem daunting, and winter may seems extreme,
It's the personal reference that will pinpoints your inner feelings, it never betrays its container,
And the road to the terminal of truth lies hidden beneath the surface of darkness,
Inquiries remains, whether hidden regrets make up for old betrayals.
The 4 seasonal interchanges,; summer, autumn, spring, and winter,
Is like a relationship span of bureaucracy.
The person is admired prior before, then followed as the mind instructed their noggin,
Becoming a friend, that later being erased likewise a trashed memory shreds being forgotten,
Eventually diminishes as easily as a mirage.
Within the park's confinement alone, the visitors are stunned with awe,
As every seasonal visitation would bring a thousand memories of endowment,
Some of it which is concrete, however some swifts like the passing breeze,
Deja vu of occurrence, slithers as it fills the imagery within subconscious,
Eventually forgotten as time kills it with its shattered blade.
To thy personal favourite, you are no equal,
Simply comes by with generosity, staying by thy surrounding while maintaining the integrity,
Fed up with boredom and ashamed with the commotion, finally decides to use evasion as a tool of escapade,
As thy patience grows thin, you will eventually pass by after the tantrums within thy subconscious,
As you are not memorable to be desired, favoured, even endowed by thy feelings anymore.
P/s: The previous comment is removed, but this poem is still dedicated to the same girl prior time of editing.
