Summer is Over- The Song of 51

@KaremIBarratt

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Summer Is Over-The Song of 51

 

Summer is over

And I look for myself,

In the flying leaves and the

Greens turned reds.

And I can’t find that who I used to be,

That which I once believed,

Lost in a dream from ages ago.

 

All gone.

 

My name, my face, my voice,

The places I used to know,

The world I understood to be mine,

In the blink of an eye,

A forced good-bye.

And autumn kisses my face

Like a loving husband I am supposed

To know -to love.

 

But I am still behind, in the other time,

In the life which was mine, the warm

Rays to the sun flowing in my blood,

My bones made for dance and run,

My ears drunk in guitar’s notes sung,

Next to a bonfire’s crackling song,

For I knew myself then.

I understood my soul.

I had a name, a proper name,

Like those whispered by an eagle

On a shamanic quest.

I was me and no other.

I was summer’s lover and summer’s muse.

The world was my playground.

And my first business of the day

Was to believe in impossibilities.

And then chase after them.

 

Now autumn is knocking at my door,

Waking me from a slumber that lasted too long.

And in the blink of an eye,

There are good-byes, as a new life I did not asked

For sits by my fire place, smiling, like a

Long-distance aunt who has come home to stay.

And I can’t go back.

 

For summer is over.

 

 

The places, the faces, the names, the voices.

All gone. And this world stands in front of me,

Crispy and anew, looking eerily similar to the one

I understood, before, similar, but not the same, the flying leaves,

The intricate lace of the bare trees, the summer

Greens turning red, baptizing me with  another name,

Another voice, another face.

 

And as in dream, summer is over.

Just like that.

All that was dissolves in the blink of an eye.

Nothing else to say but good-bye.

And I want to hold on, but I can’t,

Summer is over, autumn is knocking at my door,

The world I understood, long lost,

And I want to cry, I want to run, back,

To wherever back is.

But summer is over, and there is nothing else to say,

As cool greens twist and burn into fiery reds.

 

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