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1 20%
2 40%
2 40%
Voters: 5.
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.

Autumn Reflections

The cycle of life
Lost in season
Green on brown
But then a coloured treason

Stripped from your home
To which you’ve grown accustom
Skin, now lacking bone
And there was never a muscle to

Skeletons scraping clouds
With their children running wild
Completely hollowed and empty
But they seem beguiled

And as I stand in the midst
Of this most unnatural nature
Sky-o-lanterns that twist
With the compass of the wind

I find myself disturbed
To look into the reflections
Of the autumn leaves
That fail to answer so many questions

What the future holds
For me and all else
Is the same as what unfolds
In the mist of the fall

But, with the fall of the mist
I will render myself blind

"...Please tear off my last leaf, if you'd be ever so kind"
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.