On these days
though I see the colours
of Mid-October
rich and deep
burgundies and cardinal reds,
the bay twinkling dusty blue,
my soul feels like
the trees in the middle of winter,
maple, ash, and oak,
stark and empty
after all the colours fade and fall
to their annual deaths.
The world is blazing through
its own slow fade,
yet I am like the smoke
slyly rising
from an old bonfire,
nearly extinguished,
grey as ash.
No comments:
Post a Comment