Autumn
When the amber hues
Turn to cinder-block blues
And the songbirds exist
In the recesses of our world
We lose something special
When the golden hour is up
Our clock has struck 12 and
Our aspirations raining ashes
In the fallen snow
Our reality is ever-changing
Floating on clouds high above the winter mix
When we look down upon ourselves
With contempt trailing beneath us
Something sprouts from the ash
Amidst the falling lies
I sit and imagine the amber glow
Autumn comes with retribution
When the snow is blurry shades of grey
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