The Five Seasons: A Quintographical Poem

In May, the sun shall turn my orange red
As blood on sky denied by sunlight. Leapt
The big to man the boat upturned instead
The force of radiance grand afore, inept.

So thus the father spoke of his grand plan
To spite him, shatterer, the swordsman. Coarse
Loud moans, the mother broke, the children ran
Out. Equinoxal power without horse.

The egg on face, the foot in mouth. Towards
One step, away from spirit, nature's ban
The flowers dry, to reap their own rewards
Their own. The earthen hinges turn on man;
The season cycle bangs its final bang,
Those seasons so impermeably sang.