Teetering

 I don't think you get it 

why the blue bird doesn't sing, 

while winter keeps on battling

and it some what maddening. 

I shout from the hills 

and it echo's back to me, 

Dare I face the truth 

that each season brings.

I tried to change direction

to follow the correct path, 

but I think it must be fate

that stands to take the last 

laugh. 

Teetering on fear

it anchors to the soul 

when memories fail

to release their hold.