The hideous summer is now invading. Can’t escape. He is all pervading.
Overpowering and persuading. Expressive, repressive, heat parading.
Summer returning. Indeed, I am yearning. The whole world is burning.
Ensconced himself, yes, in the heart of the sky. No one knows why.
Smoldering, shrieking, a monster by day.
You can’t make him stop because this is his way.
By night he is tossing and turning and churning.
One hideous eye, open wide, for my sake.
Whatever you say, he still won’t take a break.
His hot breath is keeping the forest awake.
Smothering, smoldering gray soil and leaves.
The humid earth heaves.
In howling, scowling love, with everything green,
Everything unseen, everything throbbing.
Overcoming, overflowing, overwhelming, overblown.
He will become Osiris, the insistent father of fruit.
The unbounded, over lord progenitor.
The expanding, demanding, impregnating God blossom.
Of unclaimed, unnamed, untamed, inflamed fertility,
Bursting through spring’s worn out skin.
Overbearing. Caring. Obsessive, possessive, oppressive.
Protective. Stirs the fire. Inflates the sky. Agitates the air.
Copulating everywhere. Out to increase the world.
Everything is bigger. Everything is growing.
I stop to ask, Where are we going?
Almost the size of a solar system.
At least the size of a star,
Generates his own heat. Heartbeat.
Yang thrilling. Yang fulfilling. Rageing yang. A raping gang.
Abundance, dancing through purple thunderstorms,
Through lightning splashing, thunder clashing.
Enthusiasm. Exaggeration. Exhilaration.
Hurricane hysteria. Mysterious delirium.
Life force flowing, glowing, always growing.
Insatiable. Inevitable. Unrelenting, unrepenting.
Do it now. Don’t wait. Tomorrow is going to be too late.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, the equinox rocks. The autumn shocks.
Tomorrow will turn the tide again. Will let the cold back in.
The summer, exhausted, will start to pale, will turn his tail, will begin to fail.
And so, the fall will make the call, will dance through the day and devour us all.
The world will moan and mourn, forlorn. Gone is the summer. My heart is torn.
Retreat to the frozen nest, to rest. The cold invades my aching breast.
I am no longer burning, burning. Now I am turning.
What am I learning? The world is still churning,
And, I am still yearning.
Why do I moan? I want my own throne.
And, I don’t want you to leave me alone.
Don’t make me pray. Don’t make me pay.
I’m willing to do, whatever you say.
All that I ask of you is, please, don’t send me away.
Hold me and tell me, for I am still yearning.
Tell me again, when, is summer returning?