Minneapolis (James Rustic)

On a desolate campus terrain, littered with brittle leaves,
Nothing but despair and depression hang from the trees.
There is no sense of happiness that arises in this place
Other than the brilliance that radiates from her glowing face;
The only beauty that can melt this harsh winter’s snow,
Allowing the faintest of my ideas to mature and grow.

As her sun illuminates the dreary ways of my winter,
She sheds light upon the darkness of these dueling fazes
Where each day may begin with a wind, cold and bitter,
Until her shine emits the sweltering heat of summer hazes;
As each season mutates daily and transforms into another,
Her rising and setting decays only the soul of her lover.

I can no longer bear to behold the reticent sun’s rays
Or the corrupt seasons which halt my dragging days;
I dream now only for the bliss that I may never concede,
Desiring simply to someday hold her liveliness in my hand,
Softly exposing dreary secrets that only she could understand,
For without her shine, my days, my ideas, will surely recede.