September Again

I brushed the moving seasons with my fingers
feeling the light grow heavier
as the weight of autumn pressed closer
and the moon sat lower in the sky,
squat and round and brooding.
I have no lightness left,
no light,
the terrestrial prison around me
holds no fascination
I am old, at once,
tired of missing you
afraid of bearing this grief forever
afraid of the fast turning days
afraid of my slow, inevitable decay.
I envy the dead.
If our spirits are eternal
than why do we forget?
Why do we come back?
I'm locked here
as lonely as the cold moon.