the Darkling Dream

sometimes it's easy to remember,
sometimes not.
and they build you up
build you up,
reaching,
and you'll fail,
crumble when the trumpet sounds.
the common malaise of the sickly dark
days of the winter months,
the breaths' duress [for fear of freezing]
and white-grey smoke, [precipitous slopes]
or our regard
for trying times.
it isn't you.
it isn't any one thing.
a gift of spring adonis
and star of bethlehem
[it's in the blood]
and they fall away.
it isn't you.