October falls
like translucent spirits
seated around definitions
outlined by devotion
as musical chairs rotate
like obsessive compulsive
spells in spite of constant
secrets lodged deep between grooves of wood
gray words fade
behind tight-clenched eyes
and hard angles become obscure
with evocative images
settling like a fine coat of ash
I seem to be
lost in the beginning of the end
sitting in dark remnants
to honor their presence
I want to reach for something solid
something with meaning
substance inside rhythm
can God see my intentions from heaven
or does He sit on my shoulder
and mock my very existence
explaining what it is like to be
- me
I already know the words to my next poem
kinda abstract
with many different shades
insignificant and flat inside November
as it hangs in this cyber-dimension
and pounds metaphor into
Tuesdays and Thursdays
I don't think I belong anywhere
I am an afterlife of something once solid
like manipulated words cut into thirds
I want to postpone tomorrow
here amid universe central
listen to the static as it sizzles
spin another story waiting to be told
and simply rearrange December
BecZ 9/27/09
Adding your comment:
These specific lines seem to encompass, even embellish, the dreary mood that drifts throughout this piece, Becky, much like a cold rainy day seeping into our bones, leaving us floating on fog and memories. It's a pensive piece, but a well-written one, with much to savor throughout. And I'm quite sure you're not alone in having felt this way. I know I have, more than once. Thank you for entering my contest, Sweetie. Good luck. 
