The Leaves Turned Red At The Sight of a Storm

The wind blows in a direction unknown to me

not right, left, north, south, so on and so forth

it began at the center of everything & blew past the trees

not to make a sound; only to move the still words in the air

the clouds are an unusual color of white

almost too pure for its own good

in its eyes, purity is naughty;

 

the leaves were transparent with a silver lining

their texture was rough yet soft against the skin

flowers brightly colored a loud red

yet they weren't roses;

the thorns were dull & could never hurt those fingers

 

the smell in the thin air was sweet yet bitter.

stick out the tongues and taste the feeling of a dream

look into the river & see nothing but blue miniature waves

waves of love, waves of belief, waves of growth;

listen closely & hear the words of the ripples

they tell a story of a dreamer afraid to wake up to the simple life

of broken dreams, tainted hearts, & a romance only heart breakers could create.