Mourning In Autumn
MOURNING IN AUTUMN
Autumn’s honey leaves,
dripping from oaken limbs,
orchestrating full-foliage hymns.
My mind cleaves to the safety
of an alluring season, of
sticky sweet aplomb,
amidst the calvary of
mainstream assault -
of ears, eyes and mental imagery.
Bullets splayed in pews,
not in gorgeous hues of fall -
crimson red of Autumn-dead.
God bless the fallen,
truncated on a Sunday morn,
a timeless change,
heavenbound,
after the ringing of a hellish bell.
I wish you well and well again,
may hope abound in your mourning gown.
11/4/2017
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