A realisation struck me,
Like a thousand leaves falling,
That my soul is of an autumnal paradigm,
I resonate with the newly grey skies,
I am Halloween and melancholia,
I am not living but instead turning amber and gold,

When I say good morning,
I expel cold misty air,
I play with the increasing winds,
Hiding behind pinecones and shed leaves,
As the days harvest comes to an end,
I greet the growing night with a sombre bonfire,

I am decay,
Not death itself,
It is not yet winter,
This I know,
I am the march towards the end,
Not the ossuary itself.

Comments
  1. Beautiful imagery and elegant lines,

    “Like a thousand leaves falling,
    That my soul is of an autumnal paradigm,”
    Well penned๐Ÿ‘Œ๐Ÿ‘Œ

  2. shauna says:

    Loving this imagery. You truly paint a picture with words!

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