Seasons of the Poet

In the midst of seasons
Cold beverages to warmth
The soil of the earth changes.

The sound of a spoon clinks
In the stirring of a coffee cup.

A typewriter becomes a life,
From one setting or another.

Please feel what is it to be lost,
Just to feel what it is 
When you have the view to look up
After falling so low.

I don't plan to sleep.
The struggle found a part of me,
And that part of me
Is present, glowing.

If you ever lose love, look to the sky
And ask for the guidance
To be lead back to it.