Claiming To Have the Poets Eye.

claiming to have the poets eye, that when upon looking at the world, your vision goes beyond the sky. to see the formation of clouds, the birds singing, the insects disappearing. sorry, sweetheart, thats no poetry of mine. i see the loneliness, the cold brush of wind that cuts egos like knives, blistering tears swept away to a place neither of us will ever know. because fall is far from vibrant, how cliched to write anything about the seasons change. the leaves are dying, turning to shades of brown and mustard. the fields are not gold, they are decay. the trees are skeletons, naked, your eyes violating them with every glance. the sidewalks dampen with sheets of rain, that cleanse the streets of viruses, sweeping them into the heads of schoolchildren and grocery store workers. humiliated pumpkins sitting on doorsteps, their bodies stripped of nutrients and life, hollow and empty. does assimilation make your heart heal faster?