The crimson red, livid yellow,
The orange and the maroon,
Leaves, drying, maybe wilting,
Losing vitality, the forest green.
The scarlet sky, and the scarlet leaves,
Mirror images of one another.
Fading from blue and green to red,
The sunset behind the clouds,
And the tree, fades,
Losing all colour.
The sky painted, like the perfect wave,
The gentle propulsions, of lipid, maroon merge.
A reddish illumination,
Marks, the end.
The leaves break away,
Drift to the ground,
Disconnected,
Disenchanted,
To be raked,
Or to be crunched,
until it should fade;
or disappear forever.
And the reddest rose, withers and dies,
All its aroma fades away.
The earth is adorned with many a corpse,
And twigs, stalk, curtain the ground,
The lakes lose all warmth,
And freeze, with life left below.
Drifting on a breeze,
To far away,
Onwards.
The red light and the red leaves,
The yellow luminescence and yellowing branch,
The orange petioles.
The beauty of the tree,
Its flower and fruit,
Fades away,
Oncoming winter, bares it to bark
With the onset of duck,
The sparrows, fly south,
And all life, hibernates,
Until the Call.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
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1 comment:
Well, I was going to write a big comment, but I'd rather your words go on their own journey.
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