PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am walking up a hill from a tawny meadow.
Thinking of secluded verse that hides in shadow.

My rose wood cane is poking and stirring at the musky air.
My inventive hand knows the calendar has finished this affair.

Sense to sustain truth remains unrestrained.
Waning mood of autumn ices the bone weather has changed.

The rawness of the wind, says, "summers warmth appears undone."
Like it or not autumns spectacle calls, like a rapidly setting sun.

This interlude, with the colorful last blasts that fall fashions.
Forests of fiery foliage mirror lovers left with dying passions.

Alone reminiscent, mysteriously, the breeze rustles the trees.
I recognize winds of listlessness, as my own instinctive pleas.

A cold drizzle, sprays onto my face, they are the tears of Autumns pain.
Feelings chill to a fizzle, revealing fears, as my eyes shed their own rain.

Minutes roll onto years, with every life cycle, difference continually amends.
A brittle brown leaf sails by in the wind, until the leaf finally descends.

Like life, seasons never linger, switching and then moving along with time.
Nature continues on its stage of conditions, sometimes turning on a dime.

Languages of image, aura of gravity, nights become long, days stay thinned.
I am a brittle brown leaf on an intricate flight in the autumn wind.