The heart beats loud with somber rhythmic ballards
as deciduous trees abandon norishment
and poets weave beautiful lines into the autumn hues
of red and gold that precursor our greed;
as the rays of goodwill are lost
to an overcast blanket that smothers the lion
and is it any wonder that more families divide
and more suicides arise at this time of year
as we slide deeper into the stench of a currupt system
that gives you credit whilst breaking the pride;
and those who are gust away by the end of a whisper
scream at all hallows eve that life is disposable
and you are but a fraction in time;
who makes their own presents
because it's dark outside when those without roots
have to numb down the pain with junk and wine
as all consuming prospectors step over the homeless
like scraps of meat, left to rot under sparkling lights;
when everyone of us has the intrinsic ability to care
but continue to shed those red and gold hues
that conquer the hope of each child who's born kind.
Honorable mention
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