Once the Frost Is Gone
The colors gold red and brown
riding the wings of some forgotten memory
that glisten off the morning dew
mirroring the reflection of what was
as leaves cover your sorrow
upon the empty ground
that seems to imitate familiar cycles
swirling in the autumn breeze
to only be locked in winters chains
freezing and stiffening the delicate colors
you crush beneath your feet
as accidental as the role of the dice
mixed with the familiar smells of autumn
weaving Its bliss between your fingers
impossible possibilities become you
fiery fumes expunge your desires
upon a world dying in cold
to only reawaken once the frost is gone
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