PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

To life, I hung,

       precariously

yet hopeful,

       clinging

to my last shred

       of hope;



my flesh

now toned

to a blushing crimson,

       the effect,

       of too many seasons

in the sun;



my veins,

       closed off, having dried

the moisture from my core,

leaving me brittle

       and arid inside.



I waited for that

       final blow,

the one that would send me

       downward,

into a pile of crushed dreams.



       My time had come.



I was too soon, blossomed-

       too young, I matured,

never knowing

how quickly

       my span would end.



       And then it happened.



I let go.



For there was no use

       in clutching

what I knew

was never really mine

       to keep.



It was an end,

       to a beginning,

a finish

       to what had started.



It was

the Autumn

       I fell.