shaped by the season

winter may come and go and with it pain
and summer's heat reminds us of no woe
the passing storm will burnish solar glow
and life seem cleaner for the heavy rain
all of the signals turn out quite arcane
since we are left with words we cannot know
like creaking thunder or the lightning blow
they serve to crush all meaning in each brain
the darkness would not lift and when we spoke
of worry of or fear not one could say
just how the trend of all our thoughts would twist
from calm to fright at the old-fashioned joke
that seemed to presage one more judgment day
and monsters looming once more in the mist