When summer is gone
Stories that stood behind soundless shapes;
Silence have finally found its way,
Dressed in a tall sky of towering tendons,
Wishing-wells weeping for wagons,
And as fiends of the forest frame fervent flavors,
Gruesome gravels aching for a touch of dirt from bittersweet barrels,
But one day the festering foe will see ,
what it means to be on scorching knees,
When summer is gone only the snow shall bleed,
A sonnet shaper than the dark Lead you read,
What good are ammos without the gun it fits to,
Perhaps threats are just a view only to sit through,
Salt and pepper beard too seek not for fluffy old warm rugs,
when your floors were far too cold for your own bugs,
You’ve stained the better half of what was meant to be,
Then required a fully functioning me?
There is no room for light in this foggy page full of grief,
For hope is a delicacy garnished for thieves.
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