I first met Autumn when I was very, very young,
she was just a shy, quiet girl, but so very bright.
These maple trees were our favorite to play among,
as our laughter faded away with the falling sunlight.
I can still see her brown sweater, and reddish-orange hair,
blowing around her smiling face, like a flickering flame.
Her innocent voice still whispers on October's cool air,
near the place, where our lonely swing remains the same.
As the summer days said goodbye, and welcomed September,
the death of my dear, young friend came all too soon.
Autumn was one of those whom you'd always remember,
her soul was as beautiful as the shining, harvest moon.
She was here, then gone, leaving words that were never spoke,
to this day, I have never understood why Autumn had to leave.
Her presence lingers on the wind, like drifting wood-smoke,
as once a year, her playful spirit arises on All Hallow's Eve.
August, 4th, 2014
... Ideal's the emptiness of stone temples;
Invited souls - two dancers times enfold;
Invoked's the past, redrawn in vain circles
the years sustain recalls of feelings' mold.
Recited scripts - the weather's voice is cold,
Extols them to an absent audience,
The shrines remember them on timeless role,
Adventive cadence, adventive cadence.
Consorted with the broken glass, they bleed
their lives ascended into rains of red
their thoughts became obstacles to impede
somehow the birds forgot to sing and fled.
The runnel ghosts of emptiness out-traced
existences' odd trails and righteous died
where acquaintances devoid embraced
- their solitude; and in the woods winds cried.
Air fingers feel their face, feverish strings;
and dithered silence shines on splendid glow,
lone glances coil on tungsten burning rings,
abstinent sorrow abstinent sorrow.
© 02-24-2013, G. V., All Rights Reserved
(Surreal - Elegy)
Do pray with me my dying moth
for we are not forgiven yet,
till we don't shed the silken cloth
and both our wings to fire set.
Do pray for me while you are there,
inside your grief our holy land,
how can I for redemption care!
While my own touch the sinking sand.
Still pray, for life is short and ill,
can't empty minds the gardens find,
I might not my transgressions kill,
while praise the earth that burns my kind.
But you are ill and cannot fly,
like a beggars eye do you bargain;
a day, a life, why do you try
and go through the forsaken pain.
If pray you must, do pray for me,
have yet to earn my deepest sin,
though a creature wise you cannot see
a moment through the human skin.
Please pray, as once had for life prayed
in the calmest of your timeless age,
we paint our stay with our own shade
and in this blank find all the rage.
Pray with those burnt out wings so pure,
and ask for me the holy balm,
that does to men the sense restore,
but to this man the senseless calm.
Do pray as I will die one day,
until that day I cannot live,
just dream that you may live to pray,
and to my moth a purpose give.
R.N Khan 2014
My tinnitus was off the scale
The day before you passed away
I’d wanted, needed much to cry
And having many reasons why
A pregnant woman stoned to death
You fought for freedom, took your rest
Cain was marked for murdering Abel
Where laws don’t protect, is love enabled?
A little still bereft you’re gone
Having never hung my arms around
The head that inspired many to rise
Above assaults, above hate crimes
Your words encouraged folks to choose
To wonder, teach, transcend the blues
In language rich and movement tuned
To grow in spirit great as you