The End of Things

By Roger Wallock
copyright 2009

Deep, blue skies sending rays
giving our skin a golden glaze.
lonely alarm clocks collecting dust
and our day begins with lunch.
Conversations drift on cool night mist
while lying on soft blades of grass.
Scalding heat held at bay
by the mighty branches of a tree
or the icy waters of a singing stream.
Drifting along with the dust
letting the breeze carry us.
Rarely sleeping in our beds
carefree about the fears we dread.
Uncertainty looms of what autumn brings
we mourn the summer,
we mourn the end of things.
We despise the end of freedom
we hate the end of innocence
leaving August behind makes no sense.
Sharing stories with a friend
exploring trails around the bend
thousands of text messages to send
God, why does this feeling have to end!
Steaks sizzling on a greasy grill
juicy odors slice through air so still.
Kernels of corn stuck in molars
the only energy we crave is solar.
Time frozen on a mountain lake
smelling Grandma’s cookies bake.
Savoring moments that feel so free
til September steals this life from me.