I Stand

Slowly,

I stand, 

simmering in the seraphic summer sun, softly

stammering silly sayings,

smiling at the shining sky.

Solemnly, 

I sit,

in the scenes of September, singing

songs of something sad,

stalling the sound of settling souls and severance.

Safely,

I sleep,

in the shimmering snow,

smothered and suffocated by the serpentine suffering,

savoring the shelter from the storm.

Staggering, 

I stand,

steady now on solid soil,

sort of shifting in the sweet spring sun,

starved of the seeds and stems,

and standing now,

standing still.