Draconian

I am bewildered by this cruel fate -
clouding my judgement.
Sowing the seeds of life in soil of ruin…
the winds feel silent and kissed Death’s wings.
It’s colder than before, still the winter’s passed
and springtime haste fully took all it came for.
Often I stare at the clouds drifting by, imagining you there -
like formations of a dream adrift from me.
The moments are gone but you remain,
If we had wings we would leave the seasons behind -
escaping this quiet shroud always haunting us.
We sleep now in the ashes blowing in the wind.