Poll: ...
Poll Options
View poll results: ...
4 57%
2 29%
1 14%
Voters: 7.
Warmth is Not Only a Toast to the Weather

Pale moonshine, and not the intoxicating kind,
drips lethargically through maple branches.
Mesmerizing, it casts a melancholy splendor
upon whispering brooks that flow as secrets.

Frost-covered rock, like a show on sparkling ice,
takes the place of cold, chilling stares.
Desolate, fallen leaves rustle in the slight breeze
and a lone ring lays forgotten upon the trail.

An arch of stone, a weathered granite bridge,
mourns the absence of barely breathed words.
Silently, it wishes once more for peaceful lives
to share this moment of tranquility.

Autumn morning

Light through the window
wakes me and I rise
to see the walls have closed in.
I look outside, but there is nothing there
Only the dying forest,
a desolate place where the sun shines
through the barren branches of the trees.
It may be daybreak, but the year is in dusk,
the closing moments before winter descends.


Under a crimson oak, I see
two lovers' hands entwined,
their passion semi-precious.
Cool autumn wind stings my
swollen eyes. I stood and begged
the autumn rain to cleanse my
conscience, but it stirred up
foggy memories of summer love,
and how I failed to make him dance.
I dance alone on autumn frost.

I can see us in Autumn's frigid
path, vibrant and green we were
from Summer's lust. Soon, wicked
autumn air rattled in our veins, now
red with passionate fury. His veins
flowed cold and grey, like used winter
heartache. My veins ran crimson with pride.

A shattered hope comes forth within
these lovers' sullen eyes. Their summer
lust, turned autumn love, shapes deathly
winter ice. Autumn, won't you treat them
well like you did for me? Let their love live
through dying, like old weathered leaves.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.