In my head, it is autumn.
It is coolest October;
the bitter wind laden with the voices of ghosts
speaking in the scrape of leaves across this cruel pavement.
In my head, it is autumn, always.
The world is emblazoned with the embers of leaves approaching death,
and each tear shed by each tree
is so beautiful to me.
I who cherish the perishing flames,
of running time growing lame,
in this world that stays the same
when autumn leaves bereaved became.
Outside, it is spring.
April is waking,
the still air pushed turbulent by the wills of children running with kites.
Displeased, I wait for night.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Wow!! First let me say I am a HUGE fan of multiple meanings and inuendo and you have both. This was well put together and the cream was the subtlety of your approach.
Well done!
John
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Why do your words always touch me?
No matter the season I long for the sharp air of fall. I yearn to see each leaf as it slowly passes from this world to the next. While birth of spring is pleasing to the nose the decay of autumn is candy for the eye. This year I will be going north in hopes to cath the fires of their passing. This one brings tears of longing. Breathtaking!
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