An Unyielding Autumn

She reminds me of late afternoons
Burning teas, and the flaming Sun
Sitting across a row of Murakamis
Flanked by a shelf of Nicholas Sparks’
Talks tinged with happy endings
Hardened heroines, burnt and healed 
Roguish heroes, scheming villainy

Lives I have loved, stories where I played
An actor to most, not to a few
With whom my life merged
In a vaporous medley, of which remains little �" 
The essence in the concrete, rusted steel
Of my House.

Ashes of dust, of blazing paint
In colors of Red, of which again
Little remains, an evaporating
Lake of thoughts, bled of lust
A reminder of the misty dryness
That flit on frost tinted windows
A wavering of petals, in windy mornings

Crispy, broken leaves raining down
Floating sorrowfully in the bridal twilight
In the cold morning of a soggy August
Murmuring the susurrate voice of death.
Fallen rain, clinging to cold iron railings
Splashing feet, voices brimming with laughs
Of love drawn, surrendered to and won.

I shall say again of the beginning
She reminds me of early mornings
Blurry eyelids blinded by fog
Of the gently bent grass, dripping dew
The salty thirst of the evening sea
Splashing steam at the shores
Whispering the eternity of being

Reviews

[Emily B]

this is gorgeous, beautiful, so glad that I wandered by