Perdition.

As Winter was exiled, so was I,
Spring came strong like the feeling of unrequited Love,
driving me into the cosy clutches of my room, I hide,
from the suffocating warmth and care of the Sun above

Waves of inelegant darkness colour my pensive face,
as looking out through clear windows I see the World rejoice,
Shall refuse, not by decree nor by force,
Be recluse, for its the poet's own choice

What goodness lies in lying spring?

I hide my scars from the gaze of onlookers
who hide me from their conscious, their eyelids closed.
I wash my sins in the rain of moral degradation
as did every man who wrongfully chose

Spring is pompous, loud, but forgiving
akin to the hordes to whom it pays pleasure...
it rewards sinners and winners alike giving
credence to their ill gotten treasure

Come not to me with your stories Lord,
of the green pastures, the painted flowers, the blooming corn..
the Joy of Spring is but a charade of discord
hidden by the innocent cry of the new born

I will refrain from the rejoicing,
until I see Spring once again be an arm of passion,
accuse and point the Sun's finger voicing
our evil done with scarce compassion

Till then,
speak not to me of Spring's caress,
for I am mute until I pay for my sins.